


The One Where Scott is Steve's Weakness

by JinxQuickfoot



Series: Weaknesses [22]
Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Awesome Wanda Maximoff, Civil War Fix-It, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Gen, Hostage Situations, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt Scott Lang, Kidnapped Scott Lang, Kidnapped Steve Rogers, Kidnapping, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Sam Wilson, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Rescue Missions, Scott Lang Needs a Hug, Scott Lang is a Good Bro, Scott is a Good Friend, Team as Family, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 38,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23590414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxQuickfoot/pseuds/JinxQuickfoot
Summary: “Wanda?” Steve asked softly. She handed him the packet. Glancing around at his fellow rogues, Steve slid the contents out of the packet onto the cardboard box they had been using as a table.They were photos of Scott. Scott on the Raft. Scott beaten, his face black with bruising. With the photos came a single line of text: "Time to come home."----------------------------------------------------------------------------Team Cap has been on the run for months now, but the perils of one of their team members force them to return to a place they'd hoped to never see again - the Raft.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Tony Stark, Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Scott Lang & Steve Rogers, Scott Lang & Tony Stark, Scott Lang/Hope Van Dyne, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff & Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson
Series: Weaknesses [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672462
Comments: 173
Kudos: 148
Collections: Weaknesses





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hawkeye1991](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkeye1991/gifts), [Hi_Tired_Im_Dad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hi_Tired_Im_Dad/gifts).



> Day 22 of the "Weaknesses" writing challenge
> 
> Warnings: Some violence, including mentions of prison violence
> 
> [Come say hi on Tumblr - I take requests!](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jinxquickfoot)

Scott still wasn’t quite sure what had happened.

One minute he had been roaming his house in his pyjamas, telling himself that it was 2 pm and he really should get dressed, and the next moment he was waking up in a grey jumpsuit with a hell of a headache.

At first, he thought he was dreaming, because this had to be a nightmare. The stone walls. The glass with no door. The deafening sounds of the ocean pounding somewhere far, far outside his tiny cell. Because he wasn’t back on the Raft - he couldn’t be.

He’d made a deal - house arrest. He hastily pulled the leg of the jumpsuit up and found the ankle monitor gone. _That probably isn’t good._

He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep out the clawing cold of the stone cell. He peered out the glass window, looking to see if any of the other rogues had been captured. His heart fluttered when he saw the other cells were empty. As much as he was relieved that they hadn’t gotten to any of his friends, that information came with the sickening realisation that he was alone.

Steve and the others were on the run - had been for months. They had no way of knowing he was here. This time, no red, white and blue shield was coming to save the day.

Scott rapped on the glass. “Hello?”

There was no answer, just his ‘hello’ echoing through the empty stone prison.

“Ok,” he muttered, pacing the cell. He was already starting to shiver. “Don’t panic. Someone will notice. Cassie will notice. And she can tell Hank and Hope and they can -”

Scott broke off. They can _what?_ Even if by some miracle Hank and Hope were able to find him, if they were even still up for _talking_ to him after Germany, what were they going to do? Break into the Raft? Become targets themselves? And as much as Scott didn’t want to be stuck here, he sure as hell didn’t want that.

He leaned on the glass, trying to keep his breathing even, trying to rationalise through this. They wanted something from him. They had to want something, otherwise why go to the effort? Probably the suit - probably Hank’s technology. And while Scott had no intention of giving them so much as the designs for Hank’s coffeemaker…that was still good. If they wanted something from him, he had leverage. He had something to bargain with while he figured out how to get out of here.

A couple or several hours passed - it was impossible to tell in the windowless prison - when Scott heard footsteps approaching his cell. He unwrapped himself from the ball he had curled into, hugging as much warmth to himself as he could, scrambling to his feet as a familiar face appeared on the other side of the glass.

“Mr Lang,” Thaddeus Ross said as he halted, hands behind his back, flanked by two official-looking men in suits carrying sidearms. Ross himself was dressed as though he were about to stroll into a board meeting, in a fine suit and expensive watch. “How are you finding your stay?”

“Not bad,” Scott said, playing for time. "Only four stars though. I’m not a fan of the view.”

Ross let out a low laugh. “Humor. That’s good. I’ve told keeping morale high is important during extended stays in confinement.” Scott blanched at the word _extended,_ and Ross noticed, smirking at him.

“I was on house arrest,” Scott said. “I made a deal. I didn’t break it.”

“That’s not why you’re here.”

Scott waited for the other man to speak, not wanting to give anything away by accident. Ross signalled to the men, who left his side. _That’s definitely not good._

The stone in the wall shifted and suddenly there was a door. One of the men drew their gun, aiming at Scott. Scott raised his hands instinctively, backing into one of the cell’s corners. _They wouldn’t go to all this trouble just to kill me. Right?_

Scott glanced back at Ross, whose expression hadn’t shifted. The Secretary of State took out his phone, holding it up to the glass.“We’re going to do a little photoshoot, alright?”

The second man approached Scott, whipping out a baton as he did so. Scott swallowed hard, trying not to seem scared. Photos. Proof of life. His heart sank. Not just a prisoner then. A hostage. It had to be Hank’s technology they were after. Scott’s mind was already racing, trying to think of a way to communicate to Hank to not give these guys a thing.

But Ross’s next statement put that line of thinking right out of his head. “Where is Steve Rogers?”

_“What?”_

The blow from the baton was sharp and sudden. Scott yelled as pain flared across his thigh. “We don’t have to do this, Lang. Just tell me where he is and I can have you home in time for dinner.”

“I…I don’t know.”

A second hit cut him across the ribs. “I don’t,” he said again through gritted teeth. “After the house arrest, I haven’t even spoken -”

The third blow on his shoulder was enough to drop him to his knees. “You know I was in prison right,” Scott gasped. “So this? Not my first beating. Not that it matters because _I don’t know anything_.”

“A shame,” Ross mused. “Well, if you’re not going to tell us how to get to your friends, I suppose we’ll have to go with Plan B.”

Scott lost count of the baton hits then. He covered his head as best he could, until it was finally over. He was vaguely aware of the clicks and flashes of the phone camera, and then Ross was gone.

Scott counted to a hundred before he uncurled himself, checking for damage. He winced as he took a deep breath - probably some cracked ribs then. Scott arranged himself the best he could, every inch of his body complaining at him to stop moving.

_Steve got us out before,_ he reminded himself, allowing himself a glimmer of hope. _Someone knows you’re here. Someone’s coming for you._

The hope was gone as soon as it was sparked. _They’re expecting him. They’re going to capture him this time. Because of you._

And not just Steve. Natasha and Sam and Wanda. They wouldn’t let Steve do this alone. _They’re going to get them all._

“No,” Scott whispered to himself. “They’ll win. They’re the _Avengers_.” Well, they weren’t anymore, not officially.

_To me they are,_ Scott thought. It was the last thing that passed through his mind as he faded into unconsciousness.

***

Steve Rogers had not been prepared for a life on the run.

Luckily, he was with someone who was. Natasha Romanoff had taught the rogues everything she knew about laying low and staying off the grid and, so far, it was working.

After leaving Bucky in Shuri’s and T’Challa’s capable hands, the rogues had made their way to South America, vanishing from their previous lives as American heroes. It hadn’t been easy. Steve hadn’t blamed Clint or Scott for making the deals they did, for choosing to stay with their families. He counted himself lucky that, even in these strange times, he got to stay with his.

Most of his.

Steve brushed the burner phone he kept in his pocket at all times, as Sam thumbed through the small collection of books the rogues had managed to snag in the last Colombian city they had passed through. 

“I really should have paid more attention in high school Spanish,” Sam grumbled, tossing the books aside. “Not sure I would have chosen the on-the-lam life if I’d known there’d be no Netflix.”

Steve gave a small smile as he looked up from his sketchpad, trying to swallow the guilt that still lingered in his gut. He didn’t regret his decision to not sign the Accords, knew the other rogues had chosen this as well but still…if Steve had never met Sam, had never dragged him into this, he would still be safe in his apartment back in D.C.

Sam caught Steve’s look and held it. “I was joking.”

_Damnit_. Sometimes it was like Sam could read his mind. “I know.” Steve gestured with his sketchpad. “We could split this if you like? If you’re looking for something to do.”

“What, you want a picture from me for the fridge?”

“The fridge is broken,” came a faintly Eastern European accent, and Wanda entered the room, a cup of tea in hand. Natasha had been teaching her American pronunciations, trying to make the accent less distinctive as they moved around, but the odd Sokovian vowel still slipped through. “What are you drawing?”

“It’s not finished.” Steve turned the sketchpad around to reveal a rendering of the tiny Colombian boy who ran errands for them and brought them food in exchange for what limited currency they had left. The boy - Nicolas - was grinning up at them from the painting, his hands arranged in peace symbols.

“Oh damn,” Sam said, leaning closer. “You can actually draw.”

“Did you think I couldn’t?”

“I don’t know. Even Captain America’s got to be bad at something.”

“Girls,” came a new voice from the doorway, and Natasha joined them in the shabby living room of their latest safe house. “He still blushes like he’s asking the popular girl to prom.”

“You know what, Romanoff -”

He broke off when he saw her face, frowning as she looked at the drawing. Wanda followed her gaze. “Look! Steve drew Nicolas. Although…” She also frowned, cocking her head to one side. “I have never seen him do this.” She mimicked the peace symbols the boy was making in the sketch.

Steve didn’t meet Natasha’s eyes. He hadn’t even realised he’d drawn them that way. His mind had been thinking of someone else. “Look, hands are hard,” he complained.

“I don’t think his eyes are that big either,” Sam chimed in. “And the left one is a little wonky.”

“Everyone’s a critic.” There was a knock at the door - two taps, a pause, and then three more. “Speaking of Nicolas.”

“I’ll get it!” Wanda was already off the ragged couch and headed to the door. She had taken a shine to the boy, picking up enough Spanish to communicate with him over the past couple of weeks they had spent in the rural Colombian town, and delighting him with hints of her chaos magic - although not enough to draw suspicion from the locals. 

Natasha took Wanda’s place on the couch, eyes still on Steve. She raised her eyebrow at him. _You ok?_

He gave a tiny nod back. _I’m fine._

“Liar,” she mouthed, but didn’t push further.

“Well, if there’s nothing to read...” Sam glanced about the mostly empty apartment. “I don’t know. Charades? Next stop we should get some playing cards or something.”

“Strip poker?” Natasha suggested, with a small smile.

“I knew it!” Sam pointed a finger at her. “You’ve been dying for a glimpse of what’s under this shirt, right Romanoff?”

“I just like watching Steve squirm.” Natasha shot a mischievous look at Steve, who took the teasing in good faith.

There were the footsteps of Wanda’s boots as the red-head reentered the living room. “Finally,” Sam said, rubbing his hands together. “I’m starving. Please tell me there’s something other than beans and rice, because if there’s not -”

He broke off when he saw the look on Wanda’s face. She was holding a yellow envelope, already opened, and was staring with Steve with tears in her eyes.

“Wanda?” Steve asked softly. She handed him the packet. Glancing around at his fellow rogues, Steve slid the contents out of the packet onto the cardboard box they had been using as a table.

They were photos of Scott.

Scott on the Raft. Scott beaten, his face black with bruising. With the photos came a single line of text.

**_Time to come home._ **

***

“He made a deal!” 

Sam hadn’t stopped pacing the apartment. Natasha had gone into full action mode, throwing what little belongings they had into backpacks and excusing herself, saying that she was finding them a ride and getting them out of the town, and hopefully the country, by the next day at the latest. 

“House arrest, and they leave him alone,” Sam continued. “They can’t do this.”

“They can,” Steve said in a low voice. “They did.”

Wanda had been very quiet, sitting on the couch with her legs curled into her chest, but now she spoke. “It’s a trap.”

“Of course it’s a trap!” Sam threw up his hands. “The Raft. The one place they know he can’t escape from, but _you_ can break into.” He turned to Steve. “If you go there, Cap, you’re not coming back out again. You know that right? They’re going to be ready for you.”

“I know,” Steve said, still in that low voice. “But Sam…we can’t do _nothing._ ”

“I’m not saying we do nothing,” Sam replied. “I’m saying we be smart. Ok?”

“I mean, I hadn’t intended to be dumb.”

“That’s not what I…” Sam broke off, taking a seat for the first time since the photos arrived, so he was eye-level with Steve. “What I’m saying is, when it comes to your team, to your friends…That’s your weakness, Steve. It always has been - the Accords proved it. And whoever sent these? They know that.”

Steve was saved from answering by Natasha reappearing at the door, her face set. “I got a ride. Let’s move.”

Steve didn’t ask where they were going, just grabbed his bag. They stopped in the main town so Wanda could say a quick goodbye to Nicolas. Just before they pulled away, Steve handed Nicolas the drawing. The young boy beamed, throwing up the peace signs like Steve had drawn him, and Steve felt a pang in his chest.

“Let’s go,” he said, and Natasha drove them away.

She had found them an old cattle truck. She and Steve sat up front while Wanda and Sam crouched in the back, promising to swap out when they had a few hours headstart. An hour had passed, and not a word had been said between them. Steve had been tapping the burner phone in his pocket, not even realising he was doing it, until Natasha said, “Are you thinking about calling him?”

Steve let out a long breath. “I don’t want to involve him. He had his reasons for staying on the right side of the law.”

“But?”

“But I don’t want to risk Scott either,” Steve replied, his voice low. “And if there’s a way Tony could get him out, _legally_ -”

“I don’t think legally matters any more, Steve.” Natasha’s eyes were fixed on the empty road ahead, her face impassive, but she was gripping the steering wheel tighter than she needed to. “Once you cross the line, there’s no coming back. Which we _knew,_ ” she added. “We all knew. And we would all do again.”

“Thanks, Nat.”

Natasha reached across and squeezed his hand. “We’ll get him back. I promise."

"We will," Steve agreed. _Hold on, Scott. We're coming for you._


	2. Chapter 2

After nearly twenty-four hours on the Raft, Scott had come to the conclusion that thiswhole situation officially sucked. 

Everything hurt, although it still didn’t come close to his worst prison beatings and, wow, wasn’t _that_ was a crappy observation on the state of the American penitentiary system. He was freezing and sore and - though he hated to admit it - just a little bit terrified.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to convince Ross that he didn’t know where Steve was - not that he’d tell him even if he did know. Scott had clocked the determined look in Ross’s eyes. It was one he recognised all too well from every prison warden and guard who had tried to take a piece of him, just because they could.

Not that it mattered. Ross clearly knew enough of where Steve or the other rogues were to think he could send them photos of Scott. The thought of the Avengers seeing him in this state sent shivers that had nothing to do cold through his body. He was a hero as well, right?

He pulled his legs against his chest and buried his head in his arms, trying to keep in what little heat he had left. _Yep. Very heroic, Scott._

Too soon, Scott heard a door clang open and footsteps echo through the underwater prison. He groaned as he uncurled himself, forcing himself to stand and meet the enemy on his feet. “A second visit already? Did you miss me that much, General?”

Ross, flanked by two guards, approached the glass.“Not as much as your little girl is, I’m sure.”

That was enough to knock out every bit of bravado Scott had managed to summon. “She’s not part of this.”

“But she is.” Ross folded his hands behind his back, and the guards flanking him disappeared. “I’m a father myself, Lang. Did you know that? I know what it’s like to want to keep your little girl safe. To make the world a better place for her. And this world would be a lot safer for both of our girls without super-soldier vigilantes running around causing mayhem, don’t you agree?”

“I don’t know where Captain America is,” Scott shot back, not rising to the bait. “And I wouldn’t tell you if I did.”

“Oh, we’re past that.” Ross brought out his phone and Scott’s heart skipped a beat. More photos, which probably meant more pain coming his way. _What fun._ “I’ve already found a way to track Rogers; he wasn’t going to be able to run from me forever. But I don’t see the need to waste government resources on bringing him and the rest of his rogues in when I can get them to come to me.”

The door to Scott’s cell was already opening. “You’re not going to catch him,” Scott said, backing away even though there was nowhere to go.

“The thing is, Lang - I will. _Very_ soon. And all because of some nobody ex-con he met what, twice? But Rogers was always more brawn than brains. I guess the team had Stark for that - and he’s on my side. Even built something special just for Rogers when I get him here. No escapes this time.”

There were two guards in the cell with Scott now. For a second, Scott weighed up his chances of fighting back, before remembering that even if he somehow managed to take them both down and get past every other security measure the Raft had to offer, he was still in a building that was _underwater._

“I really hate this place,” he muttered as one of the guards forced him to his knees, unable to keep back a short gasp as he felt the cold barrel of a gun placed at the back of his head.

“Don’t worry - it’s just for show. Cooperate and it stays that way.”

Scott decided that being held at gunpoint was an experience to be added to the ever-growing list of _things I never want to do again,_ but at least it was better than a further beating. Ross’s phone flashed as Scott forced himself to keep his head up and his face neutral, playing the cooperative hostage.

Inwardly, his thoughts were going a million miles an hour. _You can’t stay here,_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Hope started in his head. _As soon as Steve shows up, they’re not going to have a use for you. You know what happens then._

He did. Prison for Steve. The morgue for Scott.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ross finally lowered his phone. Scott breathed a sigh of relief when the gun retreated, only for it to crack against the back of his skull. He fell forward with a cry swiftly followed by a curse. “I cooperated!”

Ross shrugged. “Joining forces with a vigilante who rebels against direct orders from his government is not cooperation.”

Scott winced as he rubbed the back of his head. That had hurt way more than it looked like it did in movies. “Hey, Ross? I hate to break this to you, but you’re kind of an asshole. Just, you know, in case you weren’t aware. Thought you should know.”

Ross ignored him and left the room, which was more insulting than anything the Secretary of State could have said in response. The guards retreated from Scott’s cell, slamming the door behind them before Scott heard the audible thud of several locks being slammed into place.

He resumed his previous position of wrapping his arms around his knees, partly to fight off the cold, and partly to play victim to the camera that was staring at him from the upper righthand corner of the cell. _Let them think they beat you,_ the Hope in his head pressed him. _Make them think you’re not a threat. Then when they’re least expecting it -_

She didn’t continue. _What?_ Scott pressed. _When they’re least expecting it - what?_  


But he wasn’t talking to Hope. He was talking to himself. And Hope didn’t know because he didn’t.

One thing was for certain though. He wasn’t just going to wait around to be rescued. He wasn’t going to play into Ross’s game and be bait. And he certainly wasn’t going to be the reason that his friends ended up in here with him.

So Scott lay on the floor of the freezing cell, trying to ignore the aches and pains racking his body, and started to formulate a plan.

***

Steve didn’t know how they found them a second time.

The rogues were in the middle of nowhere, using the cattle truck as a base as they set up camp near a deserted backroad. They had been interrupted briefly by a group of teenagers who were out with a few beers too many, but a quick dash of Wanda’s magic had sent them running home, sure they had seen nothing.

They barely had cellphone reception out here, the one bar on Steve’s burner phone flickering in and out of life. They had gathered around a meagre fire, Sam making a few quips about Boy Scouts and camping that did nothing to disperse the gloom and fear that was surrounding the team.

When the woman had come running over to them, Steve expected a scolding about the fire. He had already raised his hands placatingly, readying what Spanish he knew, but the woman just pushed a yellow envelope into his hands, and fled.

Steve knew what he would find inside, but it didn’t make it any easier. Scott looked worse already, the bruising around his face darkened. As with the first package, there was a note, although the gun placed to Scott’s head made the words attached unnecessary. Their meaning was clear.

**_His time is running out._ **

“Steve,” Natasha started, her voice full of warning. Steve’s hands had balled into fists around the photos, his jaw clenching as he fought to keep his temper down. He could get angry later. Preferably when Ross was in striking distance.

“We’re going to go get him,” Steve said. It was that simple. No one on his team got hurt, not on his watch.

_Are you sure about that, Rogers?_

Steve blinked away a memory of a shield crashing into an arc reactor as Natasha spoke up. “We have to be smart, Steve. We can’t rescue Scott if we’re locked up with him - or worse.”

“Nat’s right,” Sam added quietly. “I want him out of there too, Cap, I do. But we can’t just walk right into their trap.”

“I got in and out before,” Steve argued.

“And I’m sure they have since patched up every hole in their security you exploited to do that,” Sam replied. “I don’t even have my wings, man. The second we step foot in that hellhole, it’s a going to be a steel trap.”

“We could at least get closer,” Steve reasoned. He couldn’t just do _nothing_. “Go back to New York. Figure out a plan on the way.”

He saw Nat and Sam glance at each other, but before either could speak, Wanda’s voice joined their conversation. One of the photos from the envelope had fluttered out of Steve’s grip, and she was staring at the image of Scott, her eyes reflecting the dancing flames of their campfire.

“People shouldn’t be caged like this.” Her magic flared, crushing the photo into a tiny ball which she tossed into the flames. “I have been in too many. With Strucker, and then the Raft, when they put that thing around my neck like I was a dog.”

Wanda looked at the other three, her face set. “We free him. Now. And punish those who caged him in the first place.”

Her words were met with a heavy silence, which Sam broke. “Damn, Maximoff. You can be scary when you want to be, you know that?”

“I know that a little too well.” Wanda looked at Steve. “Let’s get moving.”

“First thing in the morning,” Natasha cut in, her tone making it clear that there was no room for argument. “These roads are dangerous in the dark, even for us.”

A trickle of red light stemmed from Wanda’s hand. “I could light the way for us.”

“Too conspicuous,” Natasha argued, interrupting Steve before he could retort. “Ross is expecting you to run to Scott’s aid, Steve. He’s expecting you to rush in and make mistakes.” _Like with Bucky._ It was left unspoken, but it was there as clearly as if she had yelled it.

“Tic Tac’s tougher than he looks,” Sam offered. “Gave me a hell of a run for my money. And as long as he’s the only thing Ross has over us, he’s not going to kill him. We show up and get caught? Ross doesn’t need his leverage breathing anymore.”

Steve had to admit that Sam had a point. “Ok,” he relented. “We wait until morning. We make plans. We’re careful. But I’m not leaving Scott in that place a second longer than necessary.”

They agreed to take watch, with Natasha offering to go first. Steve had thought he was too wired to sleep, but all too soon he was waking a few hours later to relieve Nat. When he made his way over to their tiny fire, however, the Widow was nowhere to be seen.

Steve flew into fight mode, a second away from waking Sam and Wanda when he saw movement in the distance, just beyond where the firelight reached, as Natasha walked back into view. Her brow furrowed she saw Steve’s defensive stance. 

Steve met her halfway, keeping his voice in a low whisper. “What happened?”

“I thought I saw something.” She laid her hand gently on Steve’s tensed shoulder “It was a stray dog. It’s gone now.”

Steve relaxed - slightly. “Jesus, Nat. When I woke up and saw you gone, I thought…”

“You care. That’s sweet,” Natasha teased him. “But unnecessary.”

“Ok.” Still, he didn’t fully let himself come out of the defensive posture.

“Steve?”

“Sorry. Just…none of this feels right, Nat.”

“Things haven’t felt in a while.”

He couldn’t deny that. “I mean - how did they find us? _Twice?_ We’ve been so careful, taken no risks. _” Until now._

Natasha nodded slowly. “A conversation to be had in the morning. You want some company on your watch?”

“You were the one who said we needed to rest.”

“I said we shouldn’t travel on a back road without streetlights in the dark.” She led him back to the fire, prompting him to sit with her. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Steve let out a long breath. “All I’ve ever wanted to do is the right thing. That’s all I’ve ever tried to do. But lately…” He shrugged. “It’s gone past not even knowing what the right thing is anymore. It’s like every move I make, with the Accords, or Bucky…” _Or Tony_. “It always feels like the wrong move, in the end.”

“Sometimes it’s not Nazis and world domination that we’re fighting. And sometimes crashing ourselves into the ocean isn’t the solution.”

Steve’s half-smile faded even as he attempted it. “Scott was trying to do the right thing. Fighting against the Accords. Agreeing to house arrest to be with his daughter. And now…” He trailed off.

Natasha was quiet for a long time, as though choosing her words carefully. “Do you know that it’s my fault that Clint’s deaf?”

Whatever Steve had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. “I didn’t.”

“We were tracking a group that called themselves the Secret Order. Seriously, where do the bad guys get these names? We got close - too close. Clint’s cover got blown; turns out one of our guys was playing for the other team. We went in; they were ready for us. I got out. Clint didn’t.”

“What happened?”

“Fury instructed me to keep going with the mission. To track down the Secret Order’s weapons and get them back to S.H.I.E.L.D. before they could sell or duplicate them.”

“So you did the right thing and chose the mission.”

She cleared her throat, looking back at the fire.“I chose Clint.” Her hands went to the arrow necklace at the nape of her neck. “I’d seen firsthand what the Order did to their prisoners. So I made a choice. I went after Clint first. Seemed liked the right thing to do at the time.”

“Was it?”

“I was right about one thing. They were torturing him. And not that any torture is exactly fun but this was…this was bad.”

“And you didn’t get to him in time?”

She gave him a dig in the ribs. “Stop trying to guess the ending. No, I got to him. I did exactly what the Order knew I would do. I abandoned the weapons search, and rushed in without backup.”

Steve opened his mouth but she elbowed him before he could interrupt her again. “Ok, ok, I'll stop guessing.”

“Like I said - they knew I would come. And they made it just hard enough for me to get to him to make me I believe that I was there on my own terms. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and all that.”

The fingers stroking the necklace curled tight around the chain. “They put a bomb behind the door of his cell. The moment I opened it…” She paused, and this time Steve kept quiet, waiting until she was ready to finish the story.

“It was enough of a distraction that we lost the weapons, and they got sold to god knows who. But you want to know the real kicker? Clint had nearly gotten himself out. The only reason we didn’t both die was because he was halfway through disarming the trap. The explosion wasn’t as bad as it was rigged to be, but it did enough.” She gestured to her ears. “God, I have never seen Fury that angry. He benched me for months, and even then it was years before he fully trusted me not to do something that stupid again.”

“So you’re saying I should focus on the mission…not one individual person?” Steve sighed. “I don’t think that’s in me, Nat.”

“What I’m trying to say,” Natasha corrected him. “Is that sometimes what looks like the right thing in the moment isn’t in the long run.” She squeezed his knee. “Sometimes a bit of pain is needed to win the long game.”

“Is this still about you and Clint?”

She gave him her signature knowing smile. “Do you know what Clint said when I told him what I’d done?” When Steve shook his head, she added, “He said that I was an idiot. That I should have prioritised the mission. And that if our positions were reversed, he would have done exactly the same thing as I had.”

“I’m not sure what lesson I’m meant to be learning here.”

She shrugged. “Maybe I’m just trying to keep you company. And let you know that you’re not the only one who has been feeling lost on the whole “what is wrong and right” debate. What seems wrong in the moment can turn out to be the right move down the line.”

The last line held a weight to it that Steve wasn’t quite sure what to do with, but Natasha was already moving to her makeshift bed, leaving Steve alone to keep watch in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in the comics Clint went deaf due to a circus accident but this version suited this fic better. Also, it's fanfiction. Canon is not exactly our priority.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Violence, gun violence, language, description of someone making themselves throw up

Scott hadn’t moved in two hours.

In those two hours, he had learned that it was possible to be both scared and bored at the same time. Scared, because this plan was insane and was probably going to end up with him in a watery grave. Bored, because his captors were taking forever to do what he needed them to for said insane plan to work.

“Come on,” he breathed into his arm. He was lying on the ground, head buried against his chest, legs sprawled out on the floor. The position wasn’t nearly as warm as his previous one, and he had been shivering violently for the better part of an hour. _Good,_ he reminded himself. _It adds to the…what does Cassie call it? Vibe. It adds to the whole vibe._

The intended vibe being _Hey assholes, get in here because your leverage is dying._

A particularly powerful shiver shot through him as he realised that there was a strong possibility that Ross didn’t care. He had the photos already, didn’t he? Or… _shit_. Cap wasn’t here already was he? He hadn’t come and been caught already? 

_Or maybe Ross has realised that no one’s coming for you._

“Shut up, brain,” Scott mumbled. Of course, he didn’t _want_ Steve and the others to come for him only to get caught - or worse. But, if he was being honest with himself, he really didn’t want them to just leave him here either.

Not that it mattered. Because he was getting himself out of this.

Ok, so playing dead wasn’t working. He had to take this up a notch.

They’d only fed him once since locking him in the cell, and that had been several hours ago. The stale bread and cardboard-like mashed potatoes, currently sitting like bricks in his stomach, were going to have to be enough.

“Ok,” Scott breathed. “Just like college. Just pretend you drunk too much, need to chuck something up before you see the club bouncer. Here we go.”

He had never done this sober and god, it _sucked_ sober. Being sure to stay hidden from the camera, Scott wedged two fingers into his mouth until they brushed the back of his throat. “Oh god,” he moaned around the fingers, a few seconds before he started to gag. It took way longer than when he had been a wasted twenty-something throwing up into a gutter, but eventually, he felt his stomach turn and only just managed to pull his hand away before a white paste spilled from his mouth over the cell floor.

He was still hacking and coughing as the cell door unlocked, which was way faster than he had been expecting, but he forced the remaining nausea down as one of the two guards who had entered approached him. Scott had a second to recognise him as the guard who had held the gun to his head for the photos before he gave Scott a none-too-gentle kick in the ribs, which made Scott retch again. “Hey. Get up.”

“I’m sick,” Scott groaned. “Please…”

He felt the slight hesitation of the man next to him, and figured it was the best opening he was going to get. He swung his legs around in the way he had practised with Hope a hundred times, Hope not letting him leave the workout room until he had the move down perfectly.

_Thanks, Hope._ The guard was knocked to the ground with a cry of surprise and Scott was on him, drawing the gun from his belt and firing at the other second guard in the cell. There were a thud and a curse which meant Scott had hit his target. The man was slumped over, trying to steady the flow of blood rushing from his leg as he reached for a radio clipped to his shoulder.

Scott threw himself at him, narrowly avoiding the first guard as he stumbled to his knees and made a grab for him. He dodged it and barrelled into the guard he had shot, snatching his radio and slamming it into the cell floor where it shattered.

Not that that was going to make much of a difference. The camera would have seen everything, and no doubt more guards were already on their way.

The bleeding guard beneath him was wheezing as he clamped down on his leg, tears streaming down his face, and Scott felt a pang of sympathy until he stood and felt the fresh sting of multiple baton hits coursing over his body. He swung his newly acquired weapon at the first guard, who had also reached for his radio. He froze halfway, staring at Scott in shock.

Scott gestured for the guard to stand up. He did so reluctantly, narrowly avoiding putting a hand in Scott’s vomit as he did so.

“Don’t,” the guard warned him. “You won’t get out.”

“We’ll see. I’m pretty good at playing the underdog.” Scott glanced down at the injured guard at his feet. “Um, yeah. Sorry about that. But it’s not nice to kidnap people and beat them with batons, so you know, you kind of had this coming.”

Scott grabbed the standing guard by the shoulder, forcing him out the cell first. The guard hesitated until Scott poked him in the back. “Hey, you remember I’m holding the gun now, right? _Move.”_

“This isn’t going to work, Lang.” Was it just Scott’s imagination, or had the guard’s tone shifted slightly? He sounded almost…scared. “My name is Alex Pérez,” the guard continued. “I have a husband. Two kids.”

“Dude, I’m not going to shoot you, just _move_.”

“Please -”

Scott pushed him harder in the back. “Ok, Alex was it? I’m Scott. Help me get out of here, and I’ll put in a good word for you with…” Who? He wasn’t exactly going to any authority figures any time soon. “I’ll make it ok,” he finished. “Somehow.”

Pérez suddenly dodged, making to come up behind the gun and wrench it out of Scott’s grip, but Hope had mercilessly drilled that move into Scott as well and he was ready for it, catching Pérez in a headlock instead. Pérez swore at him, struggling.

“Can you stop?” Scott hissed in his ear as he started moving them both forward. The next step was to get to whatever control room would get them above water, and then…and then he’d figure out the rest as he went. Hopefully. “I’m not going to hurt you. Good guy, remember?”

Pérez ignored him, starting to list family details in between pleas to be let go as Scott hauled his hostage down the hallway; his sons’ names, his husband’s favourite TV show, the trip they were taking to the mountains next month.

Scott got as far as the end of the corridor before everything went wrong. He rounded a corner and was met with a wall of guns all pointed his way. He adjusted his own so it was pointed against Pérez’s head, trying to ignore that the move made his captive whimper in fright. “Let me through to to the control room,” Scott ordered them. “And after that -”

He didn’t get any further.

It happened so fast. One second Pérez was struggling in his arms, and the next he was a dead weight collapsing to the floor at Scott’s feet.

The trip back to the cell was a blur. The gun was wrenched from his hand and cracked across his skull for good measure before there were hands grabbing his arms and securing them with something cold and hard behind his back and strong arms dragged him along the corridor floor.By the time he had gotten his bearings, he was back in the cell and the door was being shut and locked behind him.

Scott allowed himself sixty seconds to just lie on the floor, allowing the pain from the second blow to the head to subside and the world to stop spinning. His hands were in what felt like regular cuffs, which he could get out of no problem - a skill he’d learned long before Hank and Hope came into his life - but even if he did…

He’d made it what, thirty yards of out his cell?

Scott groaned as he raised his aching head, stopping dead when he saw that he hadn’t been left alone in the tiny room. The guard he had shot was propped up against the cell wall, a puddle of blood from the leg wound spilling over the floor. His colleagues hadn’t come to help him. They’d just let him die.

Scott wormed his way across the cell until he was leaning against the far wall, trying to avert his eyes from the dead body he was now sharing the room with. Trying not to think of the _other_ dead body lying on the other side of the impenetrable walls.

He was so royally fucked.

***

The rogues didn’t end up going to New York. 

At Natasha’s insistence, they had compromised, bunkering down in a disused warehouse in New Jersey. They had ended up hitching a ride in the cargo hold of a plane to get out of Columbia undiscovered, and a dash of Wanda’s magic was enough to make sure they stayed that way.

Steve had used the time to sketch out as much of the Raft’s layout as he remembered,which was a fair amount giving his eidetic memory, and by the time he had finished the rogues had a makeshift blueprint to work off. From the photos, it appeared that Scott was being held in the cells furthest from the Raft’s entrance, as if getting to him wasn’t already difficult enough.

“Which cell he’s in doesn’t matter if we can’t get onto the Raft undiscovered,” Sam pointed out. They were huddled around the dusty warehouse floor, the interior of the dilapidated building driving home their near-hopeless situation. No backup, no resources - just each other. “Nat could stealth her way in there? Give us an in?”

“Maybe that’s not the right play,” Natasha mused, drawing the others’ attention to her. She had tucked her dyed blonde hair behind her ears to keep it out of her eyes as she surveyed the maps.

“You think we go big,” Steve clarified.

“They’ll be expecting the stealthy approach,” Natasha continued. “That’s what they will have prepared for. Not for us to show up at the front door, guns blazing.”

“We’ll be outnumbered,” Sam pointed out. "And we don't have any guns to blaze."

“That won’t be a problem,” Wanda said, causing sparks to dance from her hands. “Last time I was there they put a collar on me. I will not allow them to do so this time.”

Steve thought it over. “We don’t know how many are in there,” he said. “What kind of weapons they have, or if we’ll be able to get to Scott in time before they hurt him.”

“We’ve faced worst odds,” Natasha replied.

“Wouldn’t mind evening them out a little.” Sam’s hand brushed his shoulders, feeling for wings that weren’t there. “I know Wanda could probably take them all with her eyes closed and you pack a mean punch even without a shield, Cap, but any chance we could pick up some firepower for us regular folk?”

Natasha nudged him. “Speak for yourself, Wilson.”

Steve nodded. “Weapons is smart. We’ll take any advantage we can get. Natasha?”

“Yeah. I know a guy.”

Sam returned the nudge. “Of course you do.”

Natasha was already getting to her feet. “Would it be pushing it to assume you know a guy who can get a ride too?” Steve asked her.

Natasha shot him a look. “You underestimating me, Captain?”

“I wouldn’t dare to.”

She smirked at him as she pulled a burner phone out of her pocket Steve had never seen before, but he knew better at this point to ask where she had got it. “I need to make a few calls. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone.” As both Steve and Sam made sounds of protest, Natasha added, “I’m teasing. Of course Wanda would stop you if you tried.”

The joke should have made Wanda smile, but she was still gazing at Steve’s rough blueprints, her eyes far away. “Hey.” Steve laid a hand on her shoulder. “Are you ok?”

She nodded slowly. “It is not a place I am looking forward to returning to.”

Steve winced in sympathy. Wanda hardly ever spoke about her time on the Raft, but the image of the young woman tied up, exhausted, and collared still haunted Steve whenever thoughts of the Accords floated across his mind, which was more often than he’d care to admit.

“Perhaps after we rescue Scott we can send it to the bottom of the ocean,” Wanda mused. “Where it belongs.”

“I’m not in any way against that,” Sam agreed.

Steve waited for Natasha to weigh in, only to see that she had already vanished, as she tended to do, no doubt slipping away somewhere more private to call in her favors.

Steve’s own burner phone suddenly felt like it was glowing white-hot in his pocket and, for all of five seconds, he was tempted. As much as he had enjoyed using Tony’s tech, always trying to find a way to compliment and thank the engineer without Tony shrugging him off, Steve hadn’t fully appreciated the support the team had had from their resident billionaire genius until it was gone. Steve still had his Captain America uniform, currently stuffed into a hastily packed backpack from where they had fled Columbia, but it was torn and battered in a way that was beyond sewing needles and duct tape. He still felt the absence of his shield every time the rogues stepped in to fight whatever battles they could while staying under the radar, sometimes reaching for it before remembering it was gone.

_My father made that shield. You don’t deserve it._

He wondered if Tony had just left it there, in that miserable base in Siberia. He wouldn’t blame him if he had.

The idea of calling Tony and asking him for tech, of all things, made Steve cringe. Even if Tony did have access to several stealth planes. And advanced weapons. And everything that would make the rescue mission about ten times easier.

It took Steve a moment to realise that Sam was saying his name. He looked up and saw Sam and Wanda watching him, cautious. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Zoned out." He stood, brushing off the layer of dust that settled over clothes that badly needed a wash. Or just burned in a dumpster somewhere. “I’m getting some air.”

Their concerned faces were almost too much for him to handle as Steve made his way out the door and almost ran straight into Natasha. Her eyes widened as she clamped her hand on the phone speaker with a quick “One sec” in the microphone.

Steve hesitated. “Everything ok?”

Any hint that Natasha had been startled was gone, the collected mask slipping into place. “They’re confidential contacts for a reason, Rogers.”

He put his hands up placatingly. “Ok. Do what you need to.”

Natasha moved away again until she was well out of earshot of even Steve’s enhanced hearing. Steve took a deep breath, hand going to his burner phone, weighing up the options.

In the end, he decided against it. He reasoned that dragging Tony into this, when his former friend had fought so hard to stay on the right side of the law, wasn’t the right move. That he had gotten onto the Raft before, without any fancy Stark gadgets, and he had done it alone. The Raft had improved their security? Well this time, Steve had a team behind him.

He quashed any thoughts that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t calling because he wouldn’t be able to bear it if Tony told him no, or didn’t answer at all.


	4. Chapter 4

_My name is Alex Pérez. My husband’s name is Don. My sons’ names are Carlos and Miguel._

Scott hadn’t opened his eyes since they had abandoned him to the cell after the disaster of an escape attempt. There was nowhere to look that didn’t have a dead body or a pool of blood or a view of empty cells that Ross was determined to fill.

Scott hadn’t meant to hit the artery. It had just meant to be a leg wound to slow the guard down so Scott could get away. He had thought the guy would just have a shitty few weeks in medical, and when he had grabbed the guard he hadn’t intended to -

_My name is Alex Pérez. My husband’s name -_

_“_ Stop,” Scott breathed. “I didn’t mean to. _Stop.”_

But the thoughts didn’t stop. Neither did the images, whether he had his eyes open or not. No voice that sounded like Hope came, and nor did any more thoughts of trying to escape.

His shoulders were beginning to ache from being in the handcuffs so long, but he didn’t dare escape from them for fear that the guards would restrain him with something more secure. There hadn’t been any more beatings or photos, which meant Ross had gotten what he needed. Scott was expendable; just like everyone else on this godforsaken floating prison.

When they came for him it was quick. He was hauled away from the wall and forced to his knees as Ross strode into the cell, grimacing as his expensive leather shoes brushed against the congealing blood.

Scott went numb as the gun in Ross’s hand was placed against his forehead. He had always thought that he would face death heroically when it came; that, or he would be terrified out of his mind. He hadn’t expected it to be so, well…anticlimactic. That he didn’t have much of a reaction beyond, _Oh. This is it, then._

He tried to make his last thoughts of Cassie and Hope. In both the imagined heroic and the terrified scenarios, that had never changed. But that’s not what his mind wanted to think about.

_My name is Alex Pérez. My husband’s name is Don. My sons’ names are Carlos and Miguel. My name is Alex Pérez -_

Through the numbness, Scott registered that at least he would keep his eyes open when it happened. 

Ross brought back the gun to cock it, and aimed.

***

Steve knew better than to question Natasha Romanoff. 

She had found them guns, and a stealth plane, and figured out the coordinates of the Raft all while in squatting in an abandoned warehouse in New Jersey, and she had done it with nothing more than a burner phone and a raised eyebrow that clearly said, _Don’t ask questions._

But Steve wanted to. He _really_ wanted to.

He made it until they were flying over the ocean, with Natasha steering and Steve in the co-pilot’s chair, until his resolve broke. “How -”

“I have contacts.”

“But the plane - ”

“I have good contacts.”

It was clear that she wasn’t elaborating further, so Steve decided to bite his tongue and drop it. For now. Still feeling tempted to ask questions, he excused himself from the co-pilot’s chair and retreated to the back of the plane to sit beside Sam.

“Widow’s not telling you her secrets, huh?”

Steve shrugged. “We have bigger things to focus on.”

Sam was turning over the gun Natasha had acquired for him. It looked high-tech, with a fingerprint recognition software in the grip. Once the gun was acquainted with an owner, no one else could fire it, even if it ended up in enemy hands.

Steve, now in uniform, had a similar one tucked into his belt. He knew it was necessary, knew that they had to take every advantage they could with Scott’s life on the line.

It didn’t make it any easier to read the five white letters stamped across each of the guns.

_STARK._

The plane wasn’t out of odds with something Tony would design either. It moved noiselessly through the air, shields on the exterior turning to mirrors that hid them the moment they hit the skies.

“We do,” Sam confirmed. “Have bigger things to focus on.”

Steve realised he was still staring at the lettering on the weapon in Sam’s hands. They each had one, except for Wanda. Steve had tried to prompt her to take one - they didn’t know if Ross had precautions ready for Wanda’s magic - but Wanda had refused to touch anything Tony had had a hand in building. The two of them had never really worked out what had occurred in Sokovia and, after everything with the Accords, it seemed unlikely that they ever would. 

Steve shot a look at Natasha, and found her staring him down, the look on her face clear. _Don’t ask, Rogers._

Steve leaned his head back against the wall of the plane. Natasha’s last conversation with Tony hadn’t exactly gone well either, but she had stayed on his side longer than the rest of them had. Was that enough for her to have gone to him for help in the past twenty-four hours?

Steve felt the weight of the gun brush up against the burner phone tucked into his uniform pocket. He would feel a lot better if he knew that these weapons had come from their former team member, as opposed to using Tony’s inventions without his knowledge or permission.

_You don’t deserve it._

“Steve?”

Steve looked up to see Wanda watching him, her face cautious. He gave her a half-hearted smile as he pretended to review the blueprints, even though they had long since been imprinted on his memory.

She didn’t let him off the hook, instead drifting over to sit beside him. “Stark made a choice to be where he is,” she said, a hardness to her voice. “Scott didn’t.”

Steve glanced from her to Sam. “I’m focussed,” he promised them. To prove it, he pressed his hand to his gun, letting it attune to his fingerprints.

“Any thoughts of where we’re going after this?” Sam said. “Can’t exactly drop Tic Tac at home after we pull him out.”

Steve exhaled slowly. “We get Scott. We get to the plane. We get out. Then we’ll figure out what to do from there.”

“He’ll have to abandon his daughter,” Wanda said quietly. “Children shouldn’t grow up without their fathers.”

“We’ll figure that out too,” Steve promised. “But for now our priority is extraction and retreat. Speaking of - how far out are we, Nat?”

“Why don’t you look out the window?”

They did, Steve’s stomach clenching as he saw the metal cage that was the Raft below them. It wasn’t even underwater. Ross wasn’t hiding.

Sam said it first. “They’re expecting us. Probably got a whole welcome party laid out down there.”

“We can take them,” Steve replied, adjusting his grip on the gun. “I’ll go in first and draw their fire. Wanda, you come in after me - let them have everything you got.”

“I will enjoy doing that.”

“Natasha, Sam - you follow Wanda, take out stragglers. Your priority is finding Scott and bringing him to the jet.”

“And if Ross is down there?” Sam asked.

Steve hesitated before answering, “The mission is rescuing Scott. Although, if we can show Ross we’re not to meddled with again, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it. We ready?”

His three friends nodded, although Steve noticed as he did so that Wanda had gone even paler than usual. “You ok?” he asked her.

“Fine,” she said, but the shake in her voice betrayed her.

“Are you?” Steve pressed her. “Because you need to be sure, and we can’t afford to have you sit this one out.”

“Here,” Natasha called out, holding out a small flask. Steve was about to reprimand her for encouraging underage drinking, but Wanda was already reaching for it. “Just one swallow,” Natasha instructed. “Enough to take the edge off the nerves; not enough to cloud your judgement.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam chimed in, reaching for the flask, but Natasha was pulling it out of Wanda’s hands the moment the young witch had drunk from it.

“Boys get to drink after,” Natasha said in reply to Sam’s sound of protest. Then the plane was landing, and all hell was breaking loose.

Sam had been right about the welcome party; the second they emerged from the plane, they were in melee. But Natasha had been right as well. The Raft guards seemed to have been expecting the rogues to sneak on board quietly. There were only a few on the upper deck, and Steve guessed the plan had been to let the rogues get further into the Raft and then converge on them from all levels. The last thing they had been expecting was for Captain America to drop from the skies and start shooting.

Wanda’s storm of chaos magic followed, as she ripped weapons from hands and sent guards flying back into walls. In all the commotion, it wasn’t hard for Sam and Natasha to take down the odd straggler Wanda had missed, and the four of them made their way deeper into the Raft.

Once the element of surprise was gone, however, their progress slowed. Ross had prepared for them; Steve would give him that. Every level of the Raft was teeming with armed guards who had clearly been told to shoot first and ask questions never. They had a close call on the way down as a bullet nearly found its way into Sam’s skull, only for Wanda to catch it with her magic in the last second and deflect it back into the shoulder of the shooter.

“Thanks, Red.”

“I thought _I_ was Red,” Natasha protested as she gripped her legs around a man’s throat and brought him crashing into the ground before bringing up her gun and shooting another in the foot.

“You’re blonde now.”

“So I get a recycled nickname?” Wanda complained.

Steve was fighting three at once as he called out, “Take out bad guys now; banter later!”

A tidal wave of energy swept down the corridor, nearly taking Steve with it, but Wanda broke off the stream of magic before it could and let the rest of the guards collapse to the ground. “Thanks,” Steve panted, then “Wanda?”

The young woman had turned white, leaning against the side of the prison. “I’m ok,” she said, stumbling a little as she righted herself. “It has been while since I used so much at once.”

“Hold on, we’re nearly there.” Steve jerked his head towards the very center of the Raft, where Scott was being kept. “Shall we?”

The reinforced steel door was no match for a powerful kick from Steve. He used the move as momentum to burst into the room, gun drawn, his friends right behind him.

What they saw in the room made the rogues stop dead for the first time since they boarded the Raft.

In the furthest cell from the door, Scott Lang was on his knees, bruised and pale, only a yard or so away from a corpse, and flanked by armed guards. In front of him stood Secretary-General Thaddeus Ross, holding a gun against Scott’s temple.

Steve aimed his gun at Ross’s head, even though his chances of shooting Ross through the glass of the cell were slim to none. “Scott!” Steve called out. “We’re here. You’re going to be ok.”

“I wouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, Rogers.”

“Scott!” Steve tried again, his heart pounding. Steve had been prepared for the bruising, the black eye that nearly swollen shut, the split lip. He hadn’t been prepared for the distant look in Scott’s eyes as he stared off into space. He turned his attention to Ross. “What did you do to him?”

Ross’s smile made Steve's stomach turn.“So predictable, Rogers. You could never resist playing hero, could you? Even when it meant bringing your team down with you, when in fact -”

“Yeah, can we skip the evil monologue?” Sam interrupted him. “We already took out all the guards. So why don’t you just give us our friend back, and we’ll leave you to…what exactly is it you do? Outside of kidnapping and being a huge dick?”

“Sam,” Steve warned, as Ross pushed the gun harder against Scott’s head. The movement didn’t even make Scott blink. “He’s right, Ross. You've lost - your soldiers are down.”

“Not all of them.”

Steve risked a glance over his shoulder, but all he could see was Natasha and Wanda, who was trying to keep her feet. Steve resolved to have a private chat with her later about holding something back for the return journey as he turned back to Ross. “You’re outnumbered. Put down the gun and let us take Scott."

“Or we’re going to put you in a world of hurt,” Sam added.

Ross’s smug expression didn’t shift. “Counteroffer,” he replied. “Put down your weapons, and the criminal goes home to his daughter. Continue to resist me, and he’s going to join _him._ ” Ross nodded towards the corpse. Now that Steve’s attention was drawn to it, he noticed that the dead man was dressed in a guard’s uniform.

Something seemed to snap back into Scott’s face. His eyes lost a part of their deadness, seeming to notice Steve for the first time. “No,” he muttered. He started to struggle against the handcuffs pinning his arms. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t have come.”

Steve readied his gun at Ross. “Let him go, Ross. Last chance.”

“That bullet won’t break the glass.”

“No,” Steve conceded. “It won’t. But she can.” He stepped aside, gesturing for Wanda to take out the glass. 

But instead of a flare of magic, Steve heard Sam call out. “Wanda!”

Steve whipped around just in time to see Wanda tumble, only prevented from hitting the floor by Sam diving forward to catch her. The paratrooper started scanning her for injuries, finding none.

Steve glared daggers at Ross. “What did you do to her?”

“Me? Nothing at all.”

It was at that moment that the door behind them was suddenly filled with activity, and Steve realised that they hadn’t taken out every guard in the Raft after all - not by a long shot. Steve swore and readied himself to fight, only to find a gun aimed right between his eyes.

He blinked. Because this wasn’t happening. Because there was no way that Natasha was pointing her weapon at him right now.

“Nat?”

Her face was passive; unreadable. Her weapon didn’t waver.

The guards who had entered the room were circling them, one of them raising their gun at the unconscious Wanda. Steve was faster, bringing his own weapon up and squeezing the trigger.

No bullet fired from the gun.

Steve tried again. He knew he had ammunition - he never went into a fight without diligently keeping track of every bullet. Then he caught the look on Ross’s face. No surprise. No fear. Like everything was going according to plan.

“Good, aren’t they?” Ross said. “Guns that only work for those they’re registered to. You can even turn them off remotely if you lose them. If you have the access codes.”

Steve risked a look at Sam, who was trapped on the ground with an unconscious Wanda and a weapon as useless as Steve’s, before Natasha stepped forward, her still functioning weapon aimed right at Steve’s head.

“What are you doing, Natasha?”

“Orders,” was all Natasha replied.

“Oh yes, Romanoff has been on my side since day one,” Ross gloated. “I was just waiting for Stark to complete the new and improved cells built to contain you all, then it all it took was getting Romanoff to inform me where you were so I could send you some photographs of this one,” He prodded Scott’s forehead with the gun, making him flinch. “And you came running right into my trap.”

Steve felt like he couldn’t breathe. One of the guards was approaching with reinforced handcuffs, a similar kind to the one Rumlow had forced him into when he, Nat and Sam had been fighting Hydra. As allies. The two people he had counted on to have his back as S.H.I.E.L.D had crumbled around them. Natasha wouldn’t. She _wouldn’t._

Natasha took the handcuffs from the guard and for a split second, Steve expected her to crack the man across the head with them, signalling for them all to fight and get them the hell of out of here. 

But she didn’t. Instead, she approached Steve, holstering her gun so as to have both hands to use the handcuffs. “Kneel,” she ordered him. “And give me your arms.”

At her words, the guards stepped forward, two of them aiming at Sam’s head while another pointed at the unconscious Wanda, making Sam release a colorful string of curses. Steve glanced from them to Scott, before relenting.

“What are you doing?” Steve whispered as Natasha fastened the restraints into place. They were heavier than the ones Rumlow had used, the locks requiring a code instead of a key.

Natasha didn’t work for Ross. A stubborn part of Steve’s mind refused to accept it. Even though Ross had managed to find them so easily. Even though Natasha had so effortlessly been able to find them a plane and weapons. Weapons that stopped working the moment they were in the center of the Raft, surrounded by previously unseen enemies.

Stark Industries weapons. And as Steve glanced down at the handcuffs, he saw five white letters proclaiming their inventor as well.

“I have to say, Rogers,” Ross crowed from the cell. “I thought getting you behind bars was going to be a lot harder. But turns out I barely had to do anything. You made this almost too easy.”

Steve saw movement out of the corner of his eye and saw a guard approaching Wanda, a horribly familiar collar in between his hands. Sam had seen it too, because he was pulling Wanda closer to him with an “Oh _hell_ no” as if it would make a difference.

Steve registered the flurry of movement too late, not moving fast enough to avoid the needle Natasha jabbed in his neck. The effects were almost instantaneous, the world around him turning fuzzy and gray.

“You didn’t,” he managed, even as he struggled to keep his eyes open, his tongue growing heavy. He felt arms around him and a voice that sounded like Natasha’s in his ear, whispering, “Sometimes a bit of pain is needed to win the long game, remember?”

The last thing he registered was a small hand slipping into his pocket, the weight of the burner phone vanishing before the rushing darkness became too hard to resist.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now might be a good place to mention that this fic is Team Iron Man and Tony Stark friendly, as well as Team Cap. You probably knew that already because you’re a very intelligent human, but I am a very anxious human so I’m going to tell you anyway. 
> 
> Now that is out of the way, please enjoy the new chapter!

"Put down your weapons, and the criminal goes home to his daughter.”

_Cassie._ The words snapped Scott back into reality. He blinked away the fog, registering for the first time that there were people outside the cell.

Not just people. Avengers. Friends. Friends who were going to get captured if he didn’t do something - fast.

Scott started to work against the handcuffs, getting ready to break out of them at a moment’s notice as Steve and Ross continued their showdown. A shift and twist of his wrists and he was ready, about to throw himself out of the way of Ross’s gun to give Wanda a clear shot, when the Scarlet Witch suddenly pitched forward into Falcon’s arms, and didn’t get up again.

And if that wasn't enough for Scott to lose any hope in escape - again - the Black Widow aiming a gun in Captain America’s face was.

Scott couldn’t do anything but watch as they hauled a restrained and unconscious Steve Rogers away. Sam protected Wanda as long as he could, but he unarmed and outnumbered, and soon enough he slumped forward, woozy from a blow to the head as the guards secured a collar around Wanda’s throat, and then dragged them off too. Natasha gave Ross a nod, as if to say _mission completed,_ and followed them out of the room. She didn’t spare Scott so much as a glance.

Neither did Ross. “Send him outside. He’s served his purpose.”

The guards on either side of Scott tugged him to his feet and started dragging him from his cell, barely giving him an opportunity to get his feet under him as marched him up the corridor, past the body of Alex Pérez. Husband. Father. They hadn’t even bothered to cover up the corpse.

A new wave of determination surged through Scott. Steve, Sam, and Wanda were currently helpless, and Natasha was…

Scott shook his head, trying to rid himself of Steve’s expression when Natasha had pulled the gun on him. He forced himself to focus instead, realising he was now in the best position for escape since he woke up on the Raft. He was in cuffs he could break out of, outside of his cell, and while he had two guards flanking him, their weapons were holstered.

He faked being weaker than he was, letting them pull him along, deciding not to make a break for it until they were outside, as Ross had said. After that…should he go back for the others now, or try and make a break for it and get help? Hank and Hope, maybe even Hawkeye? He should warn Clint anyway, Scott reasoned. Ross had made it pretty clear he wasn’t going to be respecting their house arrest pleas from here on out.

As the guards hauled Scott into a reinforced elevator, he decided that escaping and returning with help was the best course of action, reasoning that if Ross had wanted any of the rogues dead, he wouldn’t have bothered knocking them out and restraining them. Even if Scott could find any of them in the Raft before he was caught again, he had no idea how to get Steve out of those cuffs or Wanda out of that collar. The second they brought him to the roof, he would get out of his cuffs and find a plane, or a boat, or whatever evil government types used to get to their underwater prisons. Even if he couldn’t get off the Raft, they’d had least have a radio, right? He could let Hope know where he was - where the others were.

Even if they shot him before he got away, at least someone would be coming to get the others out.

That was a grim thought and a half. Scott pushed it away, reminding himself, that they were going to shoot him _anyway,_ so he might as well do something useful before they did. He at least had to try - he owed them that much. 

That was when the elevator started to descend.

“Um, fellas? Pretty sure _outside_ is the opposite direction.”

The guards ignored him. Scott let out a breath, realising that if they weren’t taking him to the roof, if they were taking him deeper underwater instead, that this was as good a time as any. Cap once took out like ten guys in an elevator, right? Scott could take on two. 

He gave himself to the count of three, and then five, because, shit, this was actually bonkers level insane, then wrested himself out of the cuffs and went for the Guard #1 on his left.

The man yelled out in surprise as Scott grabbed him around the waist and pulled him around so he was between Scott and Guard #2. Guard #2 was already pulling his gun, but Scott shoved Guard #1 into him, knocking them both off balance, just as the elevator doors opened.

Scott saw no one on the other side.

Breathing out a prayer for the first piece of good luck he’d had since his capture, Scott kicked out at Guard #1 just as he clambered back to his feet with a force that would have made Hope proud, before diving out of the elevator and hitting the button for the doors to close.

An arm got between them before they could. Scott swore as he readied himself, knowing there was no point running from an armed attacker. He’d have to take them down first.

A second arm joined the first as the doors slid open again, and this time a gun came with it. Scott dived out of the way and grabbed the wrist, tugging Guard #1 out of the elevator and disarming him, feeling the assurance of the weapon in his hand just as he felt something cold poke into the middle of his back.

“Drop it.”

Scott froze. No. There had been no one on the other side of the elevator doors. There hadn’t been anyone - 

“Drop it, now. We know where your daughter lives.”

The words were the final nail in a watery coffin. Scott dropped the gun.

There were hands on him again, gripping him more securely than before as they dragged him along the corridor. He could feel that they were deeper underwater here; the air felt heavier, the light dimmer, the walls more oppressive. Or maybe that was just his imagination, the creeping sense of dread as they hauled him closer to his final destination.

It was a room. Just a plain, metal room, the only features being the door they dragged him in through, and a larger, more secure looking metal door on the opposite side. Guard #1 released Scott long enough to swipe a card next to the metal door, which opened with a delightedly sci-fi _whoosh_ that, in any other situation, Scott would have appreciated as pretty damn cool. You know, if he wasn’t about to die and all that. 

Because beyond the security door he could see nothing but water. The dark ocean before him was pounding on a second door beyond the first, this one made of sturdy glass.

“You’ve got to be kidding” was all Scott got out before they pushed him inside the airlock, the metal door slamming shut behind him. Scott immediately spun and banged his fist on it, looking for a release he knew wasn’t there.

He would take getting shot a hundred times over _this._

At least he didn’t have long to dwell on it. Only a few seconds after the metal door had closed, there was a whine and a groan as the glass door began to open instead, water rushing in to meet him.

***

_“Bucky?”_

_“It’s okay, Stevie. I’m here.”_

_“I can’t move.”_

_“You’re sick, remember?”_

There are hands on him - unwanted hands, too rough, too invasive.

_“Get them off me.”_

_“They’re just doctors. They’re here to help.”_

_“Buck…Bucky. Help. Please. Bucky?”_

Light was beginning to peak through his eyelids, waking him wince. It was too much, too fast. He made to bring his hands up to shield his eyes, only to find an immovable resistance. His knees were hurting, his jaw aching, his head throbbing.

He pulled on his hands, then tried to stand and found that he couldn’t. He wrenched his eyes open as he registered that there was something hard and unforgiving between his teeth, pain flaring in his cheeks when he tried to spit it out. The light was still too bright, the fog still swimming through his head, but he kept his eyes open anyway, as he began to make out shapes, moving around a large room, and sounds. Voices. Footsteps. Muffled sounds of the ocean.

“I think he’s waking up.”

Steve groaned around the obstruction in his mouth as one of the shapes approached him, tugging his chin up and shining a light in his still sensitive eyes, making him release a string of garbled complaints. He was kneeling, had been for some time judging by the ache in both knees, his hands pulled above him and anchored to a wall. He shifted as best as he could and noted similarly unforgiving restraints binding his ankles to the floor. The weight in his mouth appeared to be some kind of leather-wrapped bit, pressed between his teeth and locked securely by a chain that was fastened tightly at the back of his head.

The light finally vanished, allowing Steve’s eyes to readjust enough to finally make out the room in detail. He had to blink a few times to make sure he was seeing it correctly, that the drugs still coursing through his system weren’t messing with his reality. He wasn’t in a cell, wasn’t even on any of the prison floors he recognised from the Raft. He appeared to be in an office. It was large, filled with uniformed officers, all armed and, except for the one with the torch, not paying Steve the slightest bit of attention, as though he was just another one of the filing cabinets lining the walls. 

He shifted again, trying to test out the restraints without drawing attention to himself. They felt strong, but Steve reasoned that whatever they had given him was still in his system, weakening him.

Whatever Natasha had given him.

Steve shook that thought off. Natasha was playing her own game; a plan that would get them all free in the end. She wouldn’t have betrayed them. Ever.

_“The truth is a matter of circumstance. It’s not all things to all people all the time. And neither am I.”_

_“That’s a tough way to live.”_

_“It’s a good way not to die though.”_

The door to the office opened and the officers scattered around froze in their business, snapping to attention at the new arrival.

Steve froze too, eyes following the officers’, a new bout of rage flooding him as General Ross marched across the room. Unlike the officers, his eyes were straight to Steve. 

Ross snapped his fingers. “Out.”

Immediately the officers were moving, and Steve and Ross were left with only a handful of armed guards for company.

“Rogers,” Ross said by way of greeting.

Steve glared at him in response. His metabolism was finally beginning to burn through whatever drug they’d pushed into his system, and he felt his strength starting to return. He gave another tug on the restraints.

Ross smirked at him. “You won’t be getting out of those any time soon. They were designed by the world’s leading engineer, after all.”

Steve didn’t rise to the bait, forcing himself to stay focussed instead. Step one, get out of the cuffs. Step two, take out the guards. Step three, find Sam, Wanda and Scott and get them all the hell out of here. That was his priority.

But if he found a spare moment in between those three steps to punch Thaddeus Ross in the face, well, he wouldn’t be losing any sleep over that any time soon.

Ross bent down so he was eye level with Steve, patting him on the head like a dog. Steve tried to pull away but Ross twisted his hand in Steve’s hair, keeping him in place as he leant in, assaulting Steve’s nose with the scents of expensive cologne and shaving cream.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Ross breathed, adding mint to the overwhelming scents clogging Steve’s heightened senses. “To get you off the streets. To make them safe again. You’re a relic of another age, Rogers, one whose time has long since passed. This century doesn’t want or need you. Wars are won by soldiers, not a freak in a costume with dangerous ideas that he knows what’s best for this country. We have a government and laws for a reason - if you break them, there are consequences. No one gets to rise above that - not even Captain America.”

Ross’s grip on his hair was making his eyes water, and Steve fought not to blink, for fear that Ross would mistake it for tears. He bit down into the gag instead, curling his hands into fists. Ross must have noticed because his smirk grew wider as he signalled to two of the guards, who started moving something across the room that Steve couldn’t see.

“Must be frustrating,” Ross said, his voice full of mock pity. “I bet you have an impassioned speech all ready to go, hm?” He finally let go of Steve’s hair, and Steve caught himself before his chin dropped to his chest. He stuck it out instead, still glaring at Ross as the Secretary-General straightened up, making his way across the room to where two of the guards had wheeled in a large television screen.

“But the time for speeches has passed,” Ross continued.

Steve rolled his eyes at him. _Shut up already._

Ross ignored him. “Now is the time for action. That’s what the world is ready to see.” Ross turned his back to Steve, the smugness and arrogance from the Secretary of State radiating across the room. “I’m not going to kill you,” he added. “And I’m not going to cart you off to some lab, figure out how to make more of you. The world doesn’t need more of you - in fact, it needs significantly less.”

The guards were setting up the screen, which was angled specifically so Steve could see it. He shifted nervously, readying himself for whatever horror Ross had planned for him to see next.

“You’re just going to disappear,” Ross said. “The world will never know what happened to you, or the Falcon, or the Scarlet Witch.” His lips curled at the names, like they were poison. “You’ll just be gone. And when the world is in danger again, which it will be, because it always is - Captain America won’t be there to save it. The world will lose faith in you. They’ll regain faith in their _real_ protectors - the might of a military commanded by those that the people have _chosen_ to be in charge, as it should be. And you know where you’ll be when that calamity inevitably hits, Rogers?”

Steve forced himself to meet Ross’s eyes, trying to put every ounce of contempt and defiance he had into the look.

“You’ll be here,” Ross finished. “With me. I admit, that detail is a bit of a personal indulgence. But I think I’ve earned it, don’t you? I did, after all,” he gestured to Steve. “Catch the most dangerous fugitive in American history. Well,” he amended. “Second-most dangerous. But now I have you, I don’t think it’s going to be all that difficult to get the Winter Soldier here, do you? No reinforced restraints for him. The world isn’t going to be safe until there’s a bullet in that criminal’s skull.”

Steve snarled at him, yanking on the restraints so hard he was sure he’d rip the wall apart. They didn’t give.

Ross took it in stride. “Stark put a lot of care into those, so I wouldn’t bank on breaking free of them. Although, if in the very unlikely instance that you did…”

The television screen was finally switched on, and Steve stopped struggling.

Sam. Wanda.

The television was split into two separate camera recordings, showing Sam and Wanda in different cells. Wanda was curled in a ball in the ground, tied up in a straight jacket with a collar around her neck in a horrible duplication of how Steve had found her the first time. Sam was pacing his cell, occasionally banging on the glass and shouting at whoever was guarding him. Steve registered with a plunge of his stomach that, this time, they’d collared Sam as well.

“They’re in separate areas of the Raft,” Ross explained, and Steve felt his heart sink lower when he heard that they weren’t even together this time - that they were going through the forced confinement on their own. “So even if you did break out of this office and get to one of them in time to pull them out, you wouldn’t get to the other. Let me demonstrate.”

He pulled a small remote from his pocket and before Steve could even cry out to demand that he stop, both Sam and Wanda were on the ground of their respective cells, clearly both in agony.

Steve did cry out then, not caring how desperate the sound was. Ross left his finger on the button for another taunting four seconds before he finally lifted it. Sam and Wanda both grew still for a moment before Sam was back on his feet and at the bars. The cameras weren’t recording sound, but Steve could imagine the choice insults he was throwing at the guards outside his cell. Wanda just curled back into an even tighter ball than before, shaking.

“So as you can see, Rogers,” Ross continued. “There’s no escape. You’re going to stay here, with me, as my…” He gestured with the remote, looking for the word. “Prize sounds a little gauche.” He thought about it, then clicked. “My trophy,” he decided, and Steve felt his blood boil. “I get to come to work every day and be reminded that finally, I got to win.”

Steve looked at Sam and Wanda, heart racing. He wasn’t going to admit defeat - he would _never_ admit defeat, not to anyone - but he couldn’t see a way out where someone he cared about didn’t get seriously hurt, or worse.

_Speaking of._

Steve tried to ask the question the best he could, the bit turning the request into meaningless noise. Ross cupped a hand to his ear. “Sorry? I didn’t catch that.”

Steve glowered at him as he nodded to the screen, and held up two fingers, then put up a third. 

“You’re wondering why I’m not using Lang against you as well.”

Ross seated himself behind an expensive-looking desk, pulling a stack of files towards him, as though this was just another day in the office.

“I figured the bird and the witch would be enough to keep you in line,” Ross said casually. “No need to waste resources on an extra mouth to feed.” He flipped open one of the files and started to read as Steve stared at him in horror, knowing what Ross was getting at even before he said the words.

“Scott Lang is dead.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always for your all lovely comments and kudos! Every single one of them makes my day and fuels my keyboard and overall makes me a very happy writer.

Tony Stark was in a board meeting when the phone chimed. Not his phone. _The_ phone.

His first thought was that it had to be someone’s else, that he had imagined the slight vibration in his suit pocket. Then it came again, loud and insistent, drawing attention from the members of the Stark Industries’ board of trustees.

He shot them a _What can you do?_ smile and gestured for Pepper to continue her presentation, making a mental note to buy her a greenhouse worth of flowers as he slid the phone out of his pocket. 

Tony couldn’t explain, even to himself, why he kept the damn thing on him at all times. He had burned the letter five minutes after it had arrived, hating that it made him feel like some jilted lover. As he watched the paper burn he told himself it was because it was so like Steve to think that one sheet of a paper was enough to fix everything that had happened between them; the apology that still didn’t admit fault on his former team leader’s part.

That’s why he burnt it, he reminded himself. Not because he had been worried that if the letter was found, it would compromise Steve’s location. Not because seeing the so-called rogue Avengers on the wrong side of bars had reached the “Top Ten Worst Days of Tony Stark” list and boy, did it have some competition. And certainly not because Tony didn’t want to see Steve end up there too.

Tony had no intentions of using the burner phone. He’d gotten on just fine without the Avengers having his back for years. The Ten Rings, Stane, Vanko, Hammer, Kildritch - those had been him. Ok, with a bit (a lot) of help from Rhodey, and a hell of a lot of support from Pepper - more than he deserved. But still - he’d pulled his weight without the super-secret boyband backing him plenty of times before.

Speaking of Pepper, she was continuing the board meeting as though nothing had happened, always the professional, but Tony noted the tension in her shoulders, the slight purse of her lips. Yep, he was in trouble. Their recently mended relationship was on shaky legs as it was and, honestly, if she walked out the door a second time, Tony wouldn’t blame her. 

That didn’t mean he wanted it to happen, though.

The phone was flashing at him. _One new message from Steve Rogers._

“Mr Stark?”

Everyone was staring at him, although Pepper’s gaze was the only one he cared about. Her eyes showed a mixture of annoyance and concern, noting that the phone clasped in Tony’s hand was not his own.

“Excuse me, one moment. Family emergency.”

Tony made his escape, moving out of sight of the board room windows and ducking into an empty meeting room, his heart a drum against his ribs. It had been months with no contact. Zilch, nada, _nothing._ What the hell could Steve possibly want now?

Maybe he had gotten tired of waiting for Tony to get in touch. That would be so like Steve. Pushing Tony to do the right thing, to have the conversation both of them so desperately needed to have, even when he didn’t want to - wasn’t _ready_ to. Not yet. The wounds Siberia had caused were beginning at last to close, but that didn’t mean that they weren’t still raw to the touch.

“Tony?”

Tony’s head shot up to see Pepper sliding into the meeting room, clicking the door closed behind them. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I know, board meeting, important -”

“Is it the Avengers? Ross?”

Tony shook his head, gesturing with the phone. Another secret he was keeping from her. “Steve.”

Any tension softened from her shoulders and she went to him, linking her arms through his. “Why is he contacting you?”

“I don’t know.”

They both looked at the burner phone. At the un-opened message.

Pepper spoke first. “Do you want me to read it?”

_Yes._ “No.” Taking a deep breath, Tony read the text.

The three words had him springing into action, already moving for the door, only hesitating to kiss Pepper on the cheek with a, “I have to go. I’m sorry. ”

“I know. I’ll cover you here.”

Screw the greenhouse. He was going to buy this woman her own Botanical Gardens.

To most of the world’s knowledge, Tony Stark no longer carried an Iron Man suit with him everywhere he went. No suitcases, no bracelets, no implants. Iron Man went where and when the United Nations deemed him necessary.

Most of the world and the UN did not know that Tony had been tinkering with nanotech.

He waited until he was far from Stark Industries, and sure he wasn’t being followed, before he clicked the housing unit into position on his chest and let the Bleeding Edge armour engulf him, reading the text message on the phone one more time before deleting it.

_Bartons’ farmhouse compromised._

***

It was night by the time Tony arrived on the outskirts of Missouri, only pausing when he saw the sleek aircraft perched like an ugly black spider next to the Bartons’ homestead.

Tony felt a brief swell of anger before he re-focussed on the mission at hand. He recognised the jet; he had _designed_ it. It had been an Avengers-related project before the Accords demanded that Tony rent out any non-Iron Man tech to any government in the UN on demand. It had been one of several clauses he had fought when calls for the first round of Amendments for the Accords had been passed, but had finally comprised on the condition that none of the equipment he designed would ever be taken into an active war zone, and house arrest permits would be offered to the former Avengers with families. 

Tony had been surprised when Ross jumped so eagerly at his house arrest proposal, believing the man thought that anyone who went against the law belonged in a jail cell - no exceptions. Then again, Ross was a father as well. It was weird to think that, in another lifetime, Ross might have ended up Bruce’s father-in-law. 

Tony had originally designed the stealth jets - or Ninjas, as Tony had coined them - mostly for Clint and Natasha, to help them get in and out of their clandestine mission locations without being shot - if they had left anyone to shoot at them. He had drawn up the initial designs the same night Clint had staggered back into the Tower cradling a pale and bloody Natasha, preferring to be useful instead of waiting out the long night in medical like the rest of Avengers, waiting to hear if their friend was going to live past morning.

Later, when it came out that Natasha had been disarmed and shot with her own gun after taking a blow that was meant for Clint, Tony had designed guns that only fired if held by the owner of a certain set of fingerprints, that could be deactivated remotely when needed. Rhodey had teased Tony relentlessly when he realised he had stolen that idea the night they had all tried to lift Mjölnir, with Tony claiming that the weapon could only be lifted by “Whosoever is carrying Thor’s fingerprints.”

The Ninjas and the fingerprint guns were two of the first things Ross had demanded Tony turn over for Accords use. Tony eyed the Ninja with distaste as he hovered over the farmhouse.

“Which one we got, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

_“This aircraft would appear to be Donatello, Boss.”_

“Any others checked out at the moment?”

_“Just Michelangelo.”_

“My favourite one,” Tony grumbled. “Who checked them out?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. was quiet before she answered, _“There is no official record.”_

“Yeah, that figures.” Tony surveyed the farmhouse. “Alright, Fri. Where’s Barton?”

_“I am detecting four heat signatures on the top floor, and six more by Donatello.”_

Tony swore, for the first time contemplating calling for backup, but he dismissed the idea as soon as it came. He wasn’t dragging Rhodey or Vision onto the wrong side of the Accords, and T’Challa was too far away. The kid flashed across his mind but he dismissed that notion immediately. Tony still had nightmares of seeing Peter lying stock still across the tarmac in Germany; that brief moment or horror before the kid had come back to life swinging.

That was not a moment he wanted to repeat.

“Those heat signatures, Fri. How many are armed?”

_“Three by the plane. Two on the top floor. They appeared to issued with government standard equipment.”_

That left five unarmed parties, and Tony was giving out no prizes for guessing who they were. He felt suddenly cold despite the suit’s insulation. He’d only met Clint’s kids and wife once, but the archer kept them far off the grid and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s records for a reason - this _exact_ reason.

“Government standard?” Tony repeated, circling the house, gaining as much information as he could without giving his position away. “Did Barton break house arrest?”

_“I am not picking up any tampering with his ankle monitor.”_

Tony bit his lip, and then dismissed his train of thought. He could deal with the why later. At the moment, all he needed to focus on was getting the Bartons clear, which left only one decision to make. Outside or top floor.

“Show me the heat signatures, F.R.I.D.A.Y.”

There were three in total that were smaller than the rest. One was on the top floor. Two were by the Ninja - including the smallest one.

Tony’s gut roiled when he registered that he was flying over a toddler someone was holding hostage. He may live in a world that seemed to grow more morally gray by the minute, but some things still fell into either black or white. “Ok, F.R.I.D.A.Y. I’m going to get a little closer, and then I’m going to get a lot closer. And do tell - those government-issued weapons? They aren’t my lovely fingerprint guns by any chance are they?”

_“Get within range and I’ll know.”_

Tony dipped until he was almost brushing the farmhouse roof, even in the dire situation taking a moment to admire the sleekness of the Bleeding Edge armor. Ok, so he hadn’t fully had time to test out the latest model before bringing it out here. Or any time, really. But it had been the only one he had had on hand when he had gotten the text message, and he had designed it, after all. It should be fine. It would have to be fine.

The armor made no noise as Tony peered over the rooftop, F.R.I.D.A.Y. enlarging what he could see. And yep, there they were - Laura Barton and her two sons, right by the Ninja. Laura and Cooper were on their knees, Laura cradling Nate to her chest. Which meant Clint and Lila were being held separately in the top floor.

One problem at a time.

_“Their weapons are Stark Industry designed fingerprint guns, Boss.”_

“Well, if you have access to the best, you take the best.” While he was certainly not loving that his gear was being used to threaten a (former?) good friend’s wife and kids - it was bringing far too many memories of seeing his gear in the hands of the Ten Rings for comfort - this was a good thing. Because the fingerprint guns were designed to be shut off from a distance if they needed to be.

Tony had been almost as reluctant to hand those over to Ross as the Ninjas. He hadn’t even gotten around to naming them before Ross had practically wrenched the prototypes out of his hands. But Tony had had enough of seeing his weapons being sent out into the world without his control. He wasn’t going to let it happen again - not without contingencies.

“Ok, Fri. What’s our plan?”

The question brought back an unexpected memory.

_“Stark! We need a plan of attack!”_

A cry from below made Tony flinch before he realised it was Nate wailing, probably at being outside in the freezing air for too long. He heard shouts and Laura’s frantic shushing, trying to get her baby to calm down, as one of the men shoved a gun in Cooper’s face and demanded she do it faster.

_“I have a plan. Attack.”_

Tony was crashing into the ground and raising a repulser within seconds, causing the government agents to pull their human shields upright, yelling at Tony to stand down. Nate was really screaming now, even as Laura pressed him against her chest, shielding her with her body even as the agent holding her hostage jammed a gun into her neck and starting a countdown from three.

“Yeah, I really wouldn’t recommend that. We got targeting systems online, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

_ “Ready.” _

“Then fire away.”

The agent hadn’t even hit the count of two before he and his associates were collapsing to the ground. The agent holding Laura managed to squeeze the trigger before he collapsed, but no bullet fired. F.R.I.D.A.Y. had taken out their guns, rendering them useless.

Tony dived forward and caught Laura in one arm and Cooper in the other as their captors collapsed, being careful not to hit Nate. Cooper was immediately worming out of his grip, determined to get to his mother, and Tony let him, knowing that the now tranquillised agents would be out for hours.

“Lila,” Laura gasped, pulling Cooper close against her side as Nate continued to wail. Tony prayed that Clint couldn’t hear the sound. It was breaking _his_ heart; he couldn’t imagine what the baby’s cries would be doing to Clint. “She’s upstairs. They took her with Clint -”

“I’ll get them,” Tony promised. Laura, nodded, looking back at her previous captors. She gave Cooper a squeeze before she pressed Nate into his arms, leaving her hands free to scoop up one of the guns.

“Hold on -” Tony started.

“I know how to use it.”

“Oh, I bet. That’s not the issue. Wrap your fingers around the grip.”

The moment Laura’s fingers were in place, Tony ordered F.R.I.D.A.Y. to transfer exclusive usage to Laura Barton. He relayed that information to her, then prepared to fly up to the top floor.

“Wait.” Laura paused, the arm not holding the gun wrapped around her two sons. “The two up top are more experienced,” she relayed. “They took Lila up there to make sure Clint cooperated. They…Tony, they hurt him. They hurt him bad.”

Tony let out a long breath, looking for words. He settled for, “I’ll get them out. I promise. And, um…sorry about your roof.” 

Then he was flying upwards again, only to crash through the roof seconds later, landing in what looked like the master bedroom and, for the first time in months, coming face-to-face with Clint Barton.

They weren’t alone. Clint was gagged, tied to chair with more restraints than seemed necessary, given the scary amount of blood was coating his face and arms. A fourth agent stood behind him, holding Clint’s head up by his hair as he pressed a knife against the archer’s throat. Tony just had time to register the flash of surprise and then wariness in Clint’s eyes, before he was urging F.R.I.D.A.Y. to fire.

_“Targeting system not recommended in this case.”_

Tony turned off the exterior speakers. “What do you mean? You just used it!”

_“On targets holding guns they could not fire. I do not believe I could guarantee Agent Barton’s safety by tranquillising the target in the same manner.”_

_“_ You have a state-of-the-art targeting system!”

_“The Bleeding Edge armor is a prototype, Boss. Only after you remove Agent Barton from immediate danger would I be able to use the targeting system without friendly casualties.”_

Tony allowed himself a particularly nasty swear word before he turned the exterior microphones on again. “Ok, look,” he began, turning on the signature snark. “It’s late. I’m sure we all want to go home. So why don’t you step away from Hunger Games over there and we can call it a night?”

The agent responded by digging the blade harder into Clint’s throat, making Clint grunt in protest, eyes fixed on Tony.

“Get out of the suit, Stark,” the agent ordered. “And get on your knees.”

“That is a request reserved for Pepper and Pepper only. Now, unless you want to join your buddies outside in an early grave - let him go.”

This time when the agent pressed the knife in harder, Clint responded in kind, throwing his head back into the agent’s nose. Blood spurted even as Tony started forward, only to pause again as the agent readjusted his grip on Clint, crouching behind the chair to shield himself more effectively. Clint was fighting back against the bonds that were holding him down, causing further damage to his neck as the skin brushed against the blade with every moment of struggle.

“Get out of the suit,” the agent demanded. He tried to get his grip back in Clint’s hair, but Clint dodged him. Tony noted that the archer almost had almost gotten a hand free from one of the chair arms, about to slip free of the cuffs that held it down. Which would be great, if Tony wasn’t sure the agent was going to make good on his promise to slit Clint’s throat before Clint could get free enough to defend himself.

For a brief moment, Tony thought he needn’t of worried. He had no idea how Clint had managed to get free from the number of ropes and chains tying him down, but suddenly his arm was clutching the hand holding the knife, keeping it away from his throat as he yelled behind the gag, words incomprehensible but the meaning clear. _Take the shot._

Tony was a split second away from doing so before a new voice rang out from behind him.

“DAD!”

Tony and Clint both froze, Clint’s eyes growing huge as the fifth agent dashed into the master bedroom, dragging a young girl with him whom Tony recognised as Lila Barton.

“Dad!” Lila repeated, struggling even as her captor wrapped an arm around her throat, holding her close. She barely glanced at Tony, having eyes for no one but Clint, who was staring back at her in horror as a gun was placed against his daughter’s temple.

Clint stopped fighting, slumping into the chair in defeat. He looked at Tony again, his expression pleading, and that terrified Tony more than anything else that had happened so far, because in all the years he had known Clint Barton, pleading was not even close to being in the archer’s repertoire.

“Alright!” Tony raised both hands, but made no move to retract the suit. “You win, ok? Don’t hurt them.”

The agent behind Clint gave a grunt of satisfaction as he stood upright again, using his free hand to tie Clint’s wrist back to the chair. Clint didn’t dare make a move against him as he locked eyes with his daughter, giving her a small nod as though to say that everything was going to be ok.

Tony was going to _make_ it ok. There was no other option.

“Get out of the suit,” the agent threatening Clint repeated. “Or we kill the girl.”

Tony took a long breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. Just because he had deactivated the agents’ guns, didn’t mean they couldn’t still hurt Clint or Lila. One of those scenarios was worse than the other, so he started there. “Let the girl go, and the suit’s gone.”

Clint shot him a grateful look, but Tony was still focused on the two agents.

“No. The suit goes now _.”_

“Let the kid go back to her mom,” Tony pressed. “Then I’m all yours, ok?” He thought he saw the agents hesitate, just a tiny bit. A tiny bit was all he needed.

“Come on,” Tony prompted them. “You’ll still have Barton. I’ll give myself up to stop you hurting him, ok? But what I can’t do is stand down when you’re threatening a child. So your only coarse of action right now? Let her go.”

He knew the gun held to Lila’s head was rendered ineffective, but even if he took out her captor, he’d still have the knife being held on Clint to deal with. No, better to get the kid out of the way. Save her first. Then Clint. And, you know, hopefully himself. He owed Pepper that Botanical Gardens.

“You’ll get out of the suit?”

“Cross my heart,” Tony replied. “I’d add the ‘swear to die’ bit, but you know, that’s really not on my agenda tonight. Now, are you going to act like men and stop hiding behind kids? Or are we going to have to try this another way.” He aimed a repulser at each of them, revving. He had no intention to fire, but it had the intended effect, both of the men flinching back. They glanced at each other, then the one who was holding Lila shoved her towards the door.

Lila hesitated, looking at her father, shaking her head. “I can’t -”

Clint shook his head at her, letting out a frustrated noise as he darted his eyes between Lila and the door. 

“I think that’s your cue to beat it, kid,” Tony said. “Your mom and your brothers are waiting for you outside. Dad will meet you there soon.”

Clint said something that, while muffled, still came out clearly enough as _“Go.”_

Lila gave Clint one last look, shooting a death glare at the man holding him that would have made Natasha proud, then she sprinted from the room.

Tony used the cover to switch off the external microphones for a second. “How are you going with that targeting system, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

_“If you get Agent Barton out of immediate danger, I can incapacitate them both.”_

“That’s my girl. Ready the sentry mode.”

The agent who had been holding Lila switched the gun’s aim to Tony instead, and Tony was glad the helmet was hiding his smirk, knowing the weapon was useless. It only lasted as long for the other agent to tighten his grip on Clint. _Right. Very sharp knife. Not so useless._

“Get out of the suit, Stark,” the agent behind Clint ordered. “Shut it down. Get on your knees, hands on your head.”

Clint was watching him as though expecting a signal but, with his features hidden behind armor, Tony couldn’t exactly send a subtle message that he had a plan.

“Let’s go, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he said through the external speakers. “Shut it down.”

“And send it away,” the other agent added, gesturing to the hole in the roof.

_Dammnit._ There goes Plan A. Time to rapidly think of a Plan B.

The knife pressed into Clint’s throat hard enough to really start drawing blood. “Alright!” Tony raised both hands, letting the suit peal away from him, although it kept its shape as opposed to vanishing back into the housing unit. It took the form of a static suit of armor, closing behind Tony as he stepped out of it, feeling horribly exposed even though it was only two agents, only one of whom was technically armed.

“Send it away,” the agent repeated.

Tony met Clint’s eyes. His former teammate’s face was unreadable; his eyes hard and cold in what Tony recognised as the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent persona coming out to play. Detaching from the personal. It was something Tony had never managed to do.

With a flick of his wrist, the suit was flying away without him.

“Get on your knees. Hands behind your head.”

Well, wasn’t this going great. Tony obeyed, even as the agent with the ineffective gun approached him with a set of handcuffs. If they thought they had him restrained - that the threat was done with - they’d stop threatening Clint, and Tony could make his move. The gun wouldn’t work for the agents holding them - but they would work for Tony. They _always_ worked for Tony, no matter who was programming the fingerprints. He exhaled as he knelt, calculating. Cooperate until the knife was away from Clint. Break out of the handcuffs, which was probably going to require a broken thumb but, fine, whatever, he’d deal. Disarm the gunman. Take them down.

Whether or not it would have worked, he didn’t get the chance to find out.

The agent had cuffed one of Tony’s wrists and was about to move onto the other one when a shot rang through the room, making Tony flinch. His first instinct was to look at Clint, searching for injuries, but instead saw the agent behind him fall backwards in a spray of blood, the knife dropping from his hand.

Tony wrested himself out of the second agent’s grasp and hit the floor as a second shot took down the other uniformed man. He dropped beside Tony and didn’t get up again.

Tony barely had a moment to breathe before he heard running footsteps behind him, and Laura Barton was sprinting over to her husband, tugging the gag out of his mouth and pulling his head against her chest.

Another loud noise and a flash of red make Laura start, turning her gun towards its source. “It’s just the suit!” Tony said quickly. He let it fly back around him, reassembling as he stumbled over to Clint and started to pull apart the absurd amount of bindings the agents had used to keep him pinned down. He decided to move from the ground upwards, starting with the ankles, only to hear Clint gasp in pain as Tony broke apart one binding too fast. 

He remembered Laura’s words. _Tony, they hurt him. They hurt him bad._

On closer examination, Tony could see that both Clint’s ankles were badly broken, and from the way he was holding himself, those were far from his only injuries. “Sorry,” Tony muttered. “I’ll be more careful.”

Clint wasn’t looking at him; he had barely acknowledged Tony was there. His head was pressed against Laura and, ok, Tony had not been prepared for a lot of things this evening, but crying Hawkeye was definitely near the top of that list. Clint was sobbing apologies into Laura’s chest even as she assured him that she was ok, the kids were ok, they hadn’t hurt any of them, crying herself as she ran a hand through Clint’s hair.

Tony suddenly felt like an intruder; an unwanted observer on an intimately private moment. He focussed on getting Clint untied instead, trying to be as swift and gentle as possible. When the final binding fell away, Tony got to work on stabilising what injuries he could.

“So, hey,” he said quietly, still feeling like he was watching something he shouldn’t. “I’m going to splint those ankles. The rest we can take care of on Dona- um, the jet. Unless there’s something serious that I can’t see that needs to taken care of now?”

Clint shook his head without moving away from Laura. Usually Tony took Clint’s assurances of health with a grain of salt and much more than a grain of scepticism, but now didn’t seem like the time to call him out on it. Instead, Tony transferred the nanotech from his suit to Clint’s legs, holding the broken bones in place until they could be properly seen to. Clint winced, but didn’t react further. 

“Ok. You should be able to walk to the jet, at least. I’ll, um…I’ll wait outside. Whenever you’re ready.” He practically ran from the room, only pausing to glance at Laura with a, “Good shot.”

She gave him the ghost of a smile. “Told you I knew how to use it.”

“That you did.”

Tony didn’t stop moving until he was far enough away to give Clint and Laura their privacy and pulled out the burner phone, grateful for something to do. He sent a quick text.

_Bartons secure. Headed back to the Compound now._

He got the reply in seconds.

_We’ll meet you there._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you this fic was Tony Stark friendly ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you. Yes, you. You know what? You're amazing. Good job today. You deserve all the good things. Yes - even that one. Especially that one.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

Scott had decided that on his “Top Ten Worst Ways To Die” list, drowning would be in at least the top three. Zero stars, would not recommend on Yelp. Was Yelp still a thing? Cassie would know. Scott should ask when he got back.

_When he got back. Right._

He had started with the metal door that led back into the relative safety of the Raft, even though he knew that was hopeless. One simply didn’t build a death room that led into the freezing ocean with a convenient escape hatch.

The glass doors had opened enough to allow water into the chamber, but not wide enough that Scott could swim out of the gap between them. Not that he thought that would improve his situation - he was too far below the surface to have any hope of swimming to the top before he ran out of air. So either the guards were going to let him drown, then drain the room and retrieve his body, or the airlock was designed to make sure their captive died before they let what was left of them drift out to sea.

A detached part of him reckoned it was the latter. Less clean-up that way.

The water was up to his chest now, and god, it was _freezing_. Scott was struggling to take in air and his head wasn’t even below the water yet, his muscles starting to seize. _Cold shock_ , his brain supplied. _Extreme risk of hypothermia._

Scott almost burst out laughing at that as he started to tread water, the action reminding him _oh yeah, cracked ribs_ , because he would _lucky_ at this point to live long enough to succumb to hypothermia.

Because there wasn’t a way out, not this time. He was going to die. He was actually going to choke to death on freezing ocean water in a floating prison, and no one was ever going to know what had happened to him.

There wouldn’t even be a body to put in the casket.

Scott vaguely wondered if this was how Steve had felt when the plane went down. Maybe he’d freeze before he drowned. Maybe he’d float in the ocean for decades and wake up in the future. He hoped they had hover-boards. And flying cars. And dehydrated pizza.

Then he remembered that Cassie and Hope wouldn’t be there, and the nice fantasy his dying brain was spinning for him vanished and he was alone and cold and drowning, and there was only an inch of air left between him and the ceiling of the airlock, and all too soon that inch was gone.

The last thought Scott remembered having was that he was going to break his promise to take Cassie to Build-A-Bear for her birthday next week, and then he was being pulled away into darkness.

_Really_ pulled. As in, _ow._

Wasn’t the painful part of dying meant to be over by now?

The next thing he remembered was his lungs burning as he regurgitated water. Someone was ripping away the prison jumpsuit, and _no, cold, leave the clothes on, please, cold -_

When he woke again, he was pressed up against something warm. He pressed into the source of the heat and felt it hug him back, pulling him closer, a gentle hand rubbing his chest and murmuring something comforting in his ear.

When Scott woke the third time, he managed to open his eyes.

The first thing he saw was a metal floor and metal walls. He sat bolt upright, because no, surely they didn’t _fake out drown him_ just to shove him back in a cell. The warm arms were still wrapped around him and they pulled tighter as he tried to move with the intent to get out of here, _now_.

“Scott, it’s ok. You’re safe. But I need you to stay under the blankets with me for a bit longer, ok?”

“Hope?”

The voice hesitated before repeating, “You’re safe.” 

The adrenaline drained out of Scott as quickly as it had come and he let the arms pull him back into the warm, soft cocoon on the floor. Not the floor of a cell. No, this looked like…a submarine, maybe?

Despite the warmth of the person beside him, Scott was still shivering violently. That was good though, right? It was when he stopped shivering, when his body stopped trying to warm him, that he was meant to start getting concerned. Or, more concerned. He buried below the blankets, trying to get his muddled brain to take stock of his situation. Cold, but dry, the wet clothes gone.

Naked. He was pressed up against someone else, someone female, and he was naked.

He gave a start, clumsily turning himself around to stare into the face of one Natasha Romanoff.

She gave him a wary smile that did nothing to erase the concern in her eyes. “Hi.”

Pieces were beginning to fit together. Naked. Warmth. Black Widow. _Naked._

_“Shit!”_

The arms were gone from around him in an instant, and Scott felt an odd combination of relief and loss as the body heat was taken away. Natasha put her hands where he could see them. “Is it ok if I stay? Your body temperature is rising, but it’s still too low to be safe. This was the fastest way to get your temperature up.”

Scott’s teeth were still chattering, so he nodded, and then sighed as warm arms swept around him and Natasha gathered him back to her chest, and Scott may have been borderline hyperthermic but he certainly felt hot, heat rushing into his cheeks as the mantra of _Black Widow. Naked._ started up again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Natasha assured him. “At this point, I’ve seen every member of the Avengers with their pants down at least once. Or pants entirely destroyed, in Bruce’s case.”

“Cool,” Scott managed. “Cool, cool. So, this is like, an initiation then?”

“Sure. An initiation. Besides, it’ll make things less awkward next poker night. We never _say_ we’re going to play strip poker, and yet we always end up there. I blame Sam.”

“Ok,” Scott whispered. “Cool. Poker night with the Avengers. Cool.” _The Avengers. A gun to Sam’s head. Wanda unconscious. Steve restrained._ “Wait!” He was suddenly struggling away, and Natasha let him, extricating herself from the blankets as Scott tried to scuffle across the submarine, as far away from her as possible. “You!”

“Scott? I need you to calm down.”

“You sold us out to Ross!”  


“Yes. I did.” Her voice was calm as she confirmed it.

“You -” Scott looked around the submarine. They were alone. “Who’s driving this thing?”

“It’s one of Tony’s Ninjas, it’s self-navigating.”

“I thought this was a plane?”

“It’s also a submarine.”

That was _awesome_ and Scott couldn’t even spare a moment to appreciate it. Maybe later. If there was a later. “Where are the others? Steve and Sam and Wanda? What happened to them?”

“They’re still on the Raft. Ross has them.”

Scott groaned, burying his face in the blanket before he remembered that it wasn’t a good idea to take your eyes off your enemy. Not that he thought there would be much of a fight between Black Widow and a naked, freezing, suit-less Ant-Man, if it came to that. He let his head fall back against the submarine wall instead. “They came to get me. It’s my fault.”

“Hey,” Natasha said firmly, taking a cautious step closer. “It’s _Ross’s_ fault. Alright? Every part of it. You’re the victim here.”

“Thought I was meant to be one of the heroes.”

Scott didn’t see the point of moving as Natasha crossed the room to sit by his side, although she kept her distance. “Why did you do it?” Scott asked finally.

“I had too much at stake,” Natasha replied simply. “But…” She pulled a burner phone from her pocket, turning it in her hands. “That’s about to change.”

“And then?”

“And then I go back for them. All of them.”

Scott gave her a long look. “You’re not really big on sharing details, hey?”

Natasha’s lips twitched. “Sorry. Old habit of the business. Are you still cold?”

Scott didn’t see the point in denying it. He nodded. 

“Is it ok if I…?” She had her arms out, ready to move closer.

Scott hesitated, felt his teeth chatter, then nodded again. Natasha slid across and wrapped the blankets around them both again, Scott hissing as he was briefly exposed to the cool air. “Thanks,” he muttered finally. “For saving my life, and everything. That was not how I wanted to go out.”

“Do you have a preference?”

“Is being hundred and two surrounded by eighty great-grandchildren an option?”

“That would be nice.”

Scott snuck a glimpse at Natasha’s face and then wished he hadn’t. He hadn’t expected her to look…well, to look so sad.

“They’re not going to drown any of the others, are they?”

Natasha’s grip around Scott tightened. “No,” she stated. “Ross has plans for Steve. He doesn’t think I know, but I do. I always know.” The sadness was gone, replaced by a cool anger. Scott didn’t envy Ross at that moment; he would not want to be the cause of that look, ever. “And he needs Sam and Wanda to make sure Steve plays ball.”

But not him. Scott was briefly hurt, then shook it off. Captain America had marched right into the most secure prison in the world to rescue him - _again._ And now his friends were suffering for it. “We have to go back.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. “ _I_ have to go back. You need to get to a hospital and stay there.”

“No,” Scott argued. “I got them into this -”

“ _Ross_ got them into this.”

“- and I’m going to help get them out. And…” Scott eyed the burner phone in Natasha’s hands. “I know someone who can help.”

***

Tony had promised Helen Cho triple-overtime if she could make an emergency trip to the Compound that night. She had grumbled and sent a few choice insults his way, but something in the tone of his voice must have convinced her, because a few hours later Tony was perched in the Compound’s hospital waiting room next to Laura, the kids clustered around her like ducklings. Tony had offered Clint’s old quarters to them, but Lila and Cooper had refused to go anywhere until they knew their father was going to be ok.

Neither of them had cried the entire trip to the Compound after Tony had commandeered Donatello (although, was it really commandeering if it was his plane to begin with?), with Cooper taking charge of Nate so Lila and Laura could see to Clint, while Tony flew up front in the pilot’s seat. He could have programmed the plane to fly to the Compound without him, but it was clear Laura knew what she was doing, and Tony was glad for a reason to keep his distance, still feeling like an intruder on the worried family.

He _still_ felt like an intruder, but after he had excused himself to quickly call Pepper and assure that yes, everything was ok but no, she should definitely not come to the Compound right now, Tony had found himself drifting back into the waiting area to sit right back by Laura’s side. 

Helen had emerged soon after they had arrived to inform them that Clint was not in serious danger from any of his injuries; the intent had been to incapacitate, not to kill. Now she just needed some time and space to work, and they would be able to see Clint shortly.

Tony didn’t see Natasha coming. One second the seat next to him was empty, the next gentle arms were pulling him in for a hug and a fervent “Thank you” was being whispered in his ear, then Helen was back, saying Clint was ready for visitors. Natasha had promised that she would be right back to explain everything, before she slipped off with the Bartons to Clint’s side, leaving a pale, bruised, shellshocked Scott Lang in her place.

Scott and Tony stared at each other for several seconds before Tony broke the silence. “Are those my clothes?”

“Oh. Yeah.” Scott picked nervously at the Pink Floyd t-shirt as he collapsed into a seat two down from Tony’s. “They were in the plane-submarine thing. My others, um, got wet. From drowning. A near-drowning. Would not recommend.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Tony starred after where Natasha had vanished, turning the burner phone over in his hands a couple of times before looking back at Scott. He was sitting awkwardly, one hand clutched to his side, bruises littering his face and arms. Tony recognised the signs of a beating when he saw one. “Stay here. I’m getting you a doctor.”

He stood with the intention of getting Helen, but Natasha was already returning, the doctor in tow. Helen took in Scott’s appearance, her eyes narrowing as she looked to Tony. “And how many fugitives exactly am I treating this evening, Stark?”

“Quadruple overtime,” Tony promised. “Two months paid vacation.”

Helen shook her head, already feeling Scott’s forehead and checking his pulse. “Keep your money. I’m a doctor; it’s my job to heal those in my care. Scott, is it? I’m Doctor Cho, but you can call me Helen. Can you walk?”

Scott nodded, although he winced as he pushed himself to his feet. Natasha went to slide an arm under him but Scott waved her off. “I’m ok. Really.”

Helen stepped in instead, guiding Scott in front of her. “I will take that paid vacation though, Stark. That I feel I’ve earned.”

“I’m not fighting you on that.”

“That would be a first.”

Then Helen led Scott away, and Natasha was by Tony’s side for the first time since he’d told her to run. Run because she’d betrayed him; let Steve and Barnes get away. Although, considering what might have happened to them if Natasha had let them get caught, maybe it had been for the best after all.

It still hurt though.

“Hey,” she said softly.

“Yeah. Hey, I guess.” Tony flipped the burner phone over for the umpteenth time. “Is Clint going to be ok?”

“It’s nothing that won’t heal.”

Tony sensed Natasha reaching for his hand, and retracted his. She sighed, but didn’t try to repeat the gesture. “Answers,” he ordered her. “Now.”

“Ross went after him. Scott too.”

“ _Ross?_ Why? They made deals.” Then it clicked into place, and god, it was so _obvious._ He should have seen this coming. He should have done more.

“They were bait to get Steve to come out of hiding” Tony let out a long breath, slumping in his chair, before falling forward instead, his face in his hands. This time, when Natasha reached for him, he didn’t pull back.

“It’s my fault.” Tony spoke into his hands, not wanting to look at Natasha’s face, even as she rubbed circles on his back. “I suggested the house arrest deal. And I thought Ross jumped at it too eagerly, but I brushed it off. I figured, he’s a dad too, right? He gets it.”

Tony felt the slightest tension from Natasha before it vanished again. Right, Bruce’s ex-girlfriends, not the best topic of conversation in current company. _Bruce_ was not the best topic of conversation, period. “But this is why he agreed to it. To get Clint and Lang to come back. To have leverage over Rogers. I probably even put the idea in his head.”

”You can’t know that, Tony.”

Tony shook her words off. “ We have to warn them. Tell Steve that Clint and Scott are safe, tell him to stay away.”

“It’s too late,” Natasha said quietly. “Ross has him, Tony. Sam and Wanda too.”

Tony sat up so fast that the world titled, and he clutched at Natasha for balance. “Why didn’t you _lead_ with that?"

“Because I needed to make sure Clint was ok first. That I could go back for the others uncompromised.” Natasha looked in the direction of Clint’s room, her face set. “You almost have it right. Scott was bait for Steve, yes. But Clint was leverage for me.” She let out a long breath, holding back the beginnings of tears. “I betrayed them, Tony.”

“You didn’t have a choice,” Tony countered. “Or, well, I guess you did. But you made the right call - the call the others would have wanted you to make. If it was a choice between them and Clint’s family, you know what they would have chose.”

Natasha was quiet for a long moment before she replied. “Did you know I can’t have kids?”

Tony blinked at her. “Um, no. I didn’t. Should I of?”

Natasha shook her head. “It’s not something I advertise. The Red Room called it the Graduation Ceremony. It’s efficient. One less thing to worry about. And it makes sure nothing would ever be more important than a mission.” The hinted at tears were long gone; dismissed with years of practice. “I don’t know if I ever would have had them, but I would liked to have the choice. But I’ll always have Clint’s kids. Cooper, Lila, and now Nate. I get to be Aunty Nat. Clint kept them off the grid almost as much for me as for him. Our shared weakness.”

Tony followed Natasha’s gaze, in the direction of where the Bartons would be. “They’re ok, Nat. You made sure they were ok.”

“I know.” She looked up at him, smiling sadly. “Thanks to you.”

“Actually, I’d give Mrs Barton a good chunk of the credit there.” Tony was still turning the burner phone over, tapping it against his palm. “So the texts…”

“Were from me.”

Tony nodded. They had been from Nat. That made sense.

“Steve was waiting for you to call first,” Natasha said gently. “He knew it was best to leave the ball in your court; not to push you until you were ready.”

Tony straightened up, shoving the flip phone away, preparing for action. “So. We need a rescue plan.”

Natasha cupped her hand under Tony’s chin, trying to get him to look at her. He reluctantly let her turn his head. “I needed you to get Clint out. You did. The agents who were holding him are either dead or locked up at the Compound. Ross doesn’t know I’m not in his pocket any more.”

“Nat - ”

She cut him off. “I got it from here. You had your reasons for signing the Accords, for staying on the right side of the law. This isn’t your fight.”

_So no matter what, I promise you. If you need us - you need me - I’ll be there._

Tony looked up, locking eyes with Natasha. “I’m coming with you. No arguments; you’re not going to change my mind. We get them out - anything else we can sort out after we bring them home.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I think I do.” Tony felt the weight of the phone in his pocket. The weight he’d been carrying around for months. “He would come for me.”

_“We have visitors at the front gate, Boss.”_

F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice made them both jump, even as Natasha hid it better than Tony did. Tony groaned, prepared for the worst “Here we go. Who we got, Fri? Do they look like the bureaucratic kind or the shooting kind? At this point, I think I’d rather have the shooting kind.”

_“They do not appear to be associated with Secretary-General Ross.”_

Tony glanced at Natasha, who had her all-knowing smile back in place. “You going to fill me in, Red?”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. answered before Natasha could. “ _I have identified our visitors. They appear to Hank Pym and Hope van Dyne. Should I let them up?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hoped you liked this semi-recovery chapter! Back into the action in the next one.


	8. Chapter 8

Hope van Dyne was the most amazing woman in the world.

Scott had never doubted that fact for a second, but as she appeared in the door to his hospital room, he was struck all over again by how incredible this woman was. Brave, smart, and a kind heart under that tough exterior to boot. He should be telling her that every minute of the day. He’d almost died, and he hadn’t said it enough. He should say it now. He should tell her all of it, right now, before the chance was snatched away again.

“I was naked with the Black Widow.”

Hope paused in taking a seat next to Scott’s hospital bed. “You were _what?”_

“Nothing happened,” Scott hurried on. “Not that I would want it to. Not that Natasha isn’t awesome, she is awesome. Not more awesome than you though. Not that it’s a competition."

“Scott -”

“We just, um, cuddled.”

“ _Scott._ ”

“For warmth purposes only, I swear.”

Scott felt a hand slide into his, and noticed for the first time that Hope’s eyes were red and puffy, with tears threatening to spill. He hadn't seen her since she and Hank had cut off all contact with him after Germany, but she had still come for him now. He hoped that meant something.

Scott prodded his face, which hurt a lot less since Helen had pumped him full of painkillers. “Do I really look that terrible? It’s all surface. Except for the stuff…under the surface. That is also hurt.”

Hope sniffed even as she managed a smile. “Dork.”

Scott squeezed her hand. “I’ve been reliably told that I’m a loveable dork.”

“Was that Luis? Because in that case _reliably_ is not the word I’d use.”

Helen reentered, and for the moment the door was open, a heated conversation flooded into the room.

“Hank’s here too,” Hope explained, wiping her eyes as Helen approached. “He’s just having a word with Stark in the waiting room. A lot of words. Loud ones, it seems.” She turned to Helen. “What's the diagnosis, doctor?”

“He’ll heal. Let’s talk medication.” Helen raised her eyebrows at Scott. “Although I'm going to need all information first.”

Scott glanced at Hope before looking back to Helen. “You mean, everything? Like even…” He glanced between his legs. 

“Nothing like that,” Helen said.

“ _Is_ there something like that?” Hope cut in. “Because I certainly need to know if there is.”

“There isn’t!”

“Then why did you - “

“I don’t know! I panicked!”

Helen cleared her throat. “What I meant was - I have one set of prescriptions for if you do _what you should do_ and rest here. And another if you have, let’s say, other urgent business to attend to.” At Scott and Hope’s expressions, she added, “Let's just say Stark’s fees are enough to a cover a very extensive NDA. That said, my medical opinion is that you remain here under my care.”

Scott didn’t even need to consider it. “I can’t do that.” 

“You’re staying here,” Hope said at the same time.

Helen glanced between them. “Work it out. I’ll be back in five minutes - just going to go mop up some of that testosterone in my waiting room.”

She strode out, more shouting coming through the door as she left.

“My dad doesn’t like Starks,” Hope explained. “And even less so since the Accords."

"I thought you were mad at me for fighting the Accords?"

"I was mad at you for running off to _Germany_ and getting arrested, without so much as a word. Or, you know, an invite."

Scott blinked at her. "Wait, are you saying...would you have come with me?"

"Guess we'll never know." Hope shrugged. "But if I had come? You would never have been arrested."

Scott nodded towards the door. "Hank's not so thrilled I ran off with the suit, huh?"

"He is not. But not as mad as he would have been if you had actually signed. Dad reckons Ross would have used that to try and seize his work, like they got ahold of a bunch of Stark’s.”

Scott recalled the guns that had stopped working as Steve and the others had reached his cell. He had done a double-take back on the submarine when Natasha had told him where she was taking him. “Avengers' Compound. The doctors there will look after you. And I’m meeting some people.”

“Meeting people?”

“Allies.”

“Do you mean _Tony Stark?_ Isn’t...Isn’t he on Ross’s side?”

Natasha had fixed him with a look. “So was I until a couple of hours ago. We all have reasons for our alliances.”

Scott had wanted to point out that deliberately aligning yourself with the enemy and doing what that enemy wants because they’re threatening to kill your best friend wasn't exactly the same thing, but Natasha Romanoff was hard to argue with. And Tony had rescued Clint, hadn’t he? Scott recalled Tony’s exhausted posture in the waiting room, the near-immediate offer of a doctor.

“I think Stark’s going to help us,” Scott said finally.

“So he says. Dad’s not a fan of that idea.”

Scott adjusted himself so he was sitting upright in the bed, pulling the flimsy hospital gown around himself. At least it was better than Tony’s clothes. The pants had been so _tight._

“I have to go back, Hope.”

“Scott, Ross thinks you’re dead - we want to keep it that way. Doctor Cho said you should stay here.”

“I’m fine.” To prove his point, Scott shoved back the sheets and made to stand, finding resistance as Hope pushed him back. “I can’t just lie here and do nothing! They came for me. Now I’m going back for them.”

“Natasha and I can cover it.”

“No. I mean,” Scott hastily amended. “I think you’re both great. Very strong, capable, don’t need a man to back you up -”

“That foot is getting awfully close to that mouth.”

“But _Captain America_ and _Falcon_ and _Scarlet Witch_ came and they all got caught. This is an all hands on deck situation.”

“They were walking into a trap, and Ross knew they were coming. Neither of those things is true this time. You’re hurt-”

“It’s not that bad!” This time, Scott dodged Hope as he got out of bed, and was congratulating himself on the move when he realised that she had been distracted by the rising voices coming in through the hospital door as Helen reentered.

“What now?” Hope muttered, getting to her feet and glaring at Scott when he tried to follow.

“I almost drowned today - that look can’t scare me. Ok,” he admitted, after a beat. “I guess it can, but -”

There was a crash from outside. Hope grimaced but didn’t try to stop Scott as he ran after her, glad she couldn’t see him wince as he stumbled out of the hospital door in her wake.

“And another thing -” Hank paused mid-sentence, finger still pointed at Tony as he acknowledged the newcomers to the room. “Scott. You’re not dead. That’s good.”

“Nice to see you too, Hank.”

Scott thought the interaction was going to end there, only to be pleasantly surprised as Hank closed the distance between them and pulled him in for a hug. “You look like shit, though. And I'm still mad you took the suit.”

Scott grinned, returning the hug. “Fair enough.”

“Touching,” a voice cut into the moment. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Thumbelina, but I need you back resting so the rest of us can figure out what to do next.”

Hank turned to glare at Tony, readying another insult.

“Why don’t we all take a breath?” Natasha moved between Hank and Tony, placing a hand on Tony’s chest.

Tony ignored her. “I didn’t have to let you up here, Hank. I did, because apparently we’re all deciding that past grievances can take a backseat tonight. So get on board or get out.”

Hope moved so that she was mirroring Natasha, placing a hand on her father’s shoulder. “Whatever you’re shouting about can wait.” The words were more aimed at Hank than Tony, but the engineer stuffed his hands in his pockets, turning away muttering something about this whole situation being ridiculous. “We have friends in danger - let’s go get them back.”

“I’m not letting Stark anywhere near the suit.”

Tony let out a long breath, clearly trying to control another burst of anger. “I have no interest in your suits, Hank, ok? I’m not my dad. Not to mention that everything in my lab far outstrips your little _Honey, I Shrunk the Kids_ act.”

“This isn’t helping Steve, Sam and Wanda,” Natasha interrupted, and the room fell silent.

Tony pressed his thumb and forefinger to his temple, and Scott didn’t miss the whispered “Are you ok?” from Natasha, or the hand she laid on Tony’s arm. Tony shrugged her off with a nod, opening his eyes to look at Hank. “I know you and my father had their differences. I’m not him.”

“A Stark is a Stark,” was Hank’s retort. “And I don’t trust you within a hundred yards of my technology. But,” he conceded. “The arachnid is right. We need a plan.”

Minutes later, they were gathered in the Avengers’ common area planning a prison break, which sounded so cool in theory, but in reality, Scott was looking forward to spending a night watching movies on the couch with Hope and Cassie, with all of this in the past.

Natasha took center stage. “Let’s start with who we have. Obviously me, Tony -”

“And me,” Hope chimed in. They all looked at her and she gave a knowing smile. “I have some tricks up my sleeve.”

“Scott?”

“I’m in,” Scott said quickly, before Hope could protest. Helen had taken him aside and explained that she could give him enough painkillers to get him through, with the express instruction that he come straight back to her for further medical attention the moment the others were safe.

Natasha gave him a small smile. “Ant-Man’s in. Hawkeye is out.” Her tone dared any of them to argue. When they didn’t, Natasha looked to Tony. “Anyone else?”

“No.” He looked around at them all. “Let’s get something straight. I’m with you one hundred per cent, damn the consequences.” He paused, considering the words. “God, I sound like Rogers.” He shrugged it off. “But I’m not pulling Rhodey or Vis into this. This isn’t their fight.”

“I think they would disagree,” Natasha countered. “And I don’t think Vision would be thrilled if he found out Wanda was in trouble and you didn’t let him help.”

“It’s more than me just protecting them.” Tony hadn’t sat down since they’d entered the common room, and was now pacing back and forth, spinning a flip phone in one hand. “If I do this, and it goes wrong, I’m out of the game. Going on the run isn’t exactly an option for me - they’d come after Pepper, after the company. I couldn’t let that happen. So if this goes tits up, I’m letting them take me and working it out in the courts.”

Scott spoke up. “They didn’t exactly give us a trial. Just went straight to the execution part.”

“That was you. They wouldn’t do the same to me.” Tony grimaced even as he said it. “That came out wrong. But you know what I mean. I can’t just disappear. Too many questions, inconveniences, financial strains, yadda yadda.”

“Surely we should go in with all the firepower we have?” Hope asked.

Tony shook his head. “I’m not one for putting all my eggs in one basket.” He finally stopped pacing, looking around the room, waiting for them to catch up with his logic. When they didn’t, he looked like he was fighting back an eye roll as he explained. “Say we go in and it’s too much for us. Let’s say we get caught. We need people on the outside who are still on the right side of the Accords. Not just to get us out, either. Rhodey’s place in the military gives him some sway over the upcoming Amendments. And if a big threat does come while we’re all locked away on Ross’s toy boat, we need a heavy hitter like Vision still out in the world to counter that.”

They paused to consider his words. “I can see the logic in that,” Hope finally admitted.

“And we’ve tried going in blazing," Natasha mused. "This time, we need stealth.”

Scott perked up at that. “Hey, I’m stealthy!” A new thought occurred to him. “What about that spider dude? Cassie’s shown me some of his stuff on YouTube, he’s great.”

Tony didn’t even consider it. “Spider-man’s not on the table.”

“Typical,” Hank muttered, drawing Tony’s attention to him.

“You got something to say, Gran Torino?”

Hank stared him down. “You’re willing to risk my daughter, sure, that’s no problem for you -”

“I am risking more than anyone else here -”

“But not your own friends, no, them you’ll protect. At least it’s nice to know you care about _something_ other than yourself, Stark.”

Tony glared right back at him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. Spider-man is in Queens saving cats and stopping muggers and that’s where he’s staying. End of discussion.” He glanced around the room, looking for an ally, and settled on Natasha. She held his gaze. Her expression didn’t change, but Scott felt the silent conversation happen between them.

“Ok,” Natasha finally agreed. “No Rhodey, no Vision, no Spider-man. We do this just us.”

“That will be enough,” Hope replied. “We’ll _make_ it enough. Natasha - what do you know about Ross’s plans for Steve and the others?”

Natasha snuck a look at Tony before she said, “The good news is that I know exactly where they’ll be.”

“And the bad news?” Tony asked quietly.

“This isn’t going to be fun to hear.”

The room was silent for a few minutes after Natasha had explained what Ross had planned for Steve. 

“Jesus.” Tony buried his face in his hands for a moment before he recovered. “Actually you know what? It’s not important.” 

Hank went as though to argue, but Tony cut him off. “ _It’s not important_. We know where they are. We know they’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

“He’s right,” Natasha added, making Tony raise an eyebrow at her.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“Never mind, I take it back.”

“Nope. Too late. You agreed with me. Again. We got that on camera, right F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

Hope brought them back on track. “And getting on the Raft?”

“Ross still thinks he's holding Clint over my head,” Natasha pointed out. “I could probably walk back on fine.”

“Same here,” Tony added, then added wryly, “Going the lawful route has its merits.”

“That’s not going to help you get them off the Raft, Stark,” Hank objected. “Or yourself.” Everyone looked at him. “What? I don’t want him near my suits. Doesn’t mean I want him arrested.”

“I know how Cap got off the first time,” Scott offered, noting Hope’s raised eyebrow.

_“Cap?”_ she repeated.

Scott flushed under her gaze. “Yeah, it’s um, what we call Captain America. Rogers. Steve.”

Tony cleared his throat. “That’s not going to help. After _Cap’s_ little _Escape from Alcatraz_ reenactment, Ross had me do some upgrades.”

Hank scoffed at him. “In case they need to lock up your friends more securely?”

“In case I needed to break them out,” Tony retorted. “Every security upgrade on the Raft is mine. Which means I also know how to bypass every single one of them. Speaking of - now would be a good time to put together an escape plan.”

“Not an escape plan,” Hope corrected him, and Hank cracked a smile for the first time since entering the Compound, sharing a secret look with his daughter.

“Care to share with the class?” Tony said.

“He means it’s not really an escape plan, or a rescue mission,” Scott cut in, cottoning on. “Which I’m sure both of you are great at,” he added, indicating Tony and Natasha. “But this is something _we’re_ great at.”

He looked around the room, taking a deep breath before finishing. “This right here? This is a heist. And I think I know how we can pull it off.”

***

Steve had thought he knew torture.

He’d seen it during the war, too many times for comfort. He’d seen it done to his teammates after missions gone wrong, heard stories of Tony’s time in Afghanistan, of Bucky’s time with Hydra. S.H.I.E.L.D. had briefed him on it extensively when he joined, on coping mechanisms both during and after. It wasn’t about giving them nothing, it was about choosing what to give and how to give it, just enough for the interrogator to stop before they did permanent damage, physically or otherwise.

Steve and Tony had been caught together once, Steve giving himself up after Tony had fallen into enemy hands in the hope that he could break them both out from the inside. Said enemy had figured that Tony would be the easier of the two to break and had dragged him off somewhere Steve couldn’t see him.

Steve had heard him though, and had pounded on the cell door until his knuckles bled. When they finally threw Tony back to him, Tony had given Steve a bloodied grin and said, “Amateurs.”

Three days, and Tony hadn’t broken.

Steve had wanted to ask him about it; about how a billionaire playboy and all that had managed to sustain three days worth of torture without giving up so much as the Avengers favourite restaurant on Uber Eats, but wasn’t sure how to bring it up.

Tony had finally called him out on it - for lingering behind after meetings, or staring at Tony a beat too long in the Tower’s common room. “Spit it out, Capsicle, because the longing looks are starting to prove the tabloids true.”

“Tabloids?”

“Look it up. Actually, don’t. You’re not ready for that.”

They had been in the communal area of the Tower, Tony clutching his fifth or sixth coffee of the day, despite the fact that it hadn’t struck noon. “You didn’t break,” Steve said finally.

Tony’s brow had furrowed. “It was only three days.”

“I’ve seen strong men break in less than one.”

Tony had shrugged it off. “See, the funny thing about having a car battery hooked up to your chest while you’re still conscious? Nothing can really beat that. Even the waterboarding. No, the first arc reactor - if you want to call it that. Having that thing put into me was the worst. So whenever some thug thinks he can drag information out of me, or if an injury on the battlefield is getting too much, or whatever, I get to remind myself - this isn’t the worst. You’ve had the worst, and you’ve survived it. If you’ve survived the worst, you can survive anything.”

Steve had found the worst.

It wasn’t the pain - although there was pain. His body was screaming at him to move, aching from being forced into the same position for so long. They only untied him twice a day, under threat of Sam or Wanda being killed if he so much as looked at a guard the wrong way. The first time was early in the morning, before Ross got to work. They had released the cuffs and taken out the bit - although he was still under strict instruction not to speak - to let him eat and use the bathroom. The break lasted ten minutes, and it wasn’t enough for the pain in his knees, shoulders or jaw to let up before the restraints were locked back in place.

After that first break, they had washed him. He had growled muffled threats at them as they dunked rags into a bucket of freezing soapy water to wipe him down, stripping away the suit in order to be thorough, before they roughly dried him off and fixed the uniform back in place. None of them talked or made eye contact with him while they worked. They could have been cleaning a car for all the interest they showed.

The only person that so much as glanced at him was a cleaner who had come to do her rounds of the office after it had been used for the day. Steve had tried to get her attention, making as much noise as possible without frightening her. He tried to coax her to at least take the bit off as she whisked around the office, emptying bins and wiping down desks, her head bowed, cheeks flushed. She only risked a scared look at him before darting out the door.

She didn’t come back. The next day they sent someone else, who was as impassive as Steve’s guards.

The bit hurt the most. It was too heavy for his jaw, the chain cutting into his cheeks. For short periods of time he found he could lift it a fraction, his tongue taking the weight, until he had to return it to its original painful position. He couldn’t do the same for his knees. The best he could manage was shifting minutely from side to side, putting more weight into his left to give his right a break, and vice versa, but at the end of the day, both were as sore as if he hadn’t of bothered.

The first day, Steve had yelled himself hoarse. He didn’t care that no one could understand a word he was saying; the intention behind the garbled noises was clear. No one paid him any mind, continuing as though this was a typical day in the office. The phone calls were the only time Ross insisted Steve be quiet. Raising the remote that controlled  Sam and Wanda’s collars had been enough for Steve to comply.

Ross had no such compunction when he took in-person meetings. The officers paid Steve slightly more attention that Ross did, occasionally sliding him curious glances, and then quickly looking away as they met Steve’s fierce glare in return. One officer went so far as to ask Ross if he could pet him. Ross had happily obliged, and Steve hadn’t been able to do anything as the officer had run his fingers through Steve’s hair before tilting his chin up to get a better look. Then the two men returned to their meeting as though Ross hadn’t shown his guest anything more interesting than a new set of golf clubs.

Steve was exhausted by the time Ross had finally packed up for the day, starving, thirsty, and aching for the bathroom. He had hoped they would give him a second break from the wall when Ross had finished work for the day. He wasn’t wrong, but Steve was quickly learning that Ross was a workaholic of the worst kind, and it was hours past 5 pm when Ross finally sighed, stretched, and made to leave the office. Steve had long since given up trying to disrupt him and lapsed into silence as he realised that water was still hours away, trying to convince himself that he was being smart and not weak.

“Look at me.”

Steve did, but only so he could put as much contempt into the glare as possible.

Ross smirked as he took a step closer, enjoying towering over Steve. “I hope you enjoyed your day, Rogers. Every single one from here on out is going to be exactly the same.”

After Ross had finally left, Steve didn’t need the threat of Wanda and Sam to not fight back against the guards as they released him, pins and needles erupting up his arms and legs as he sagged forward, then forced himself upright to stumble to the bathroom.

The ten minutes felt like ten seconds, and either Ross didn’t understand or didn’t care about his enhanced metabolism, because the food and water they gave him weren’t enough to take the sting of hunger or thirst away before firm hands were guiding back to the wall, forcing him back on his knees, ready to pull the restraints back around him until morning. 

Steve couldn’t do it. He _couldn’t._

The guard didn’t see the swing coming. One moment Steve was letting them push him back against the wall, the next the guard to his left was across the room and a second guard followed. Steve was still moving, going for a third, but the man had already shouted into his radio. As Steve grabbed the guard’s gun, intending to take out the rest with extreme prejudice, a flurry on the TV screen stopped him in his tracks.

It happened so fast. One moment Sam was alone in his cell, the next he was on his knees, hands cuffed behind him, a gun pressed against his forehead.

Steve jerked to a halt, gripping the stolen gun, pointing it at its previous owner. “Tell them to let him go,” Steve demanded, fighting past the hoarseness in his voice. “Now.”

The guard’s eyes were wide, but he made no move to grab the radio.

_“NOW!”_

The guard flinched, glancing at his colleagues, who were gathering themselves, readying their own weapons at Steve. He didn’t care - let them shoot him. He wasn’t letting them tie him down and muzzle him again. He _couldn’t._

“Give me the radio.”

When the guard didn’t comply, Steve ripped it away instead, speaking into it. “Let Sam and Wanda go or I’m going to start shooting.”

The guard he had taken the radio from had started to pray, a muttered litany as the others watched, their faces impassive. Steve risked a glance at the television screen. Sam was glaring at his own guards, his face set, as the gun was pressed tighter against his head. None of the men in the cells even reached for their radios to reply to Steve’s demand.

He knew then. He knew even before he dropped the gun, before he let the guards manhandle him back against the wall and lock his limbs and jaw into place. There wasn’t a way out, and that - that was the worst thing.

Because the worst thing wasn’t the discomfort or the humiliation or even seeing his friends go through hell alongside him.

The worst thing was the helplessness.

The feeling wasn’t a new one. Steve had felt it all through his childhood and beyond, with every illness or bully or army registration office that had turned him away. He hated that he had to rely so much on his mother, spending money she didn’t have on medicine Steve wished he didn’t need. He hated every time Bucky showed up to pull him out of a fight, whether Steve had started it or not. He hated being turned away from doing his duty for his country because the men in charge couldn’t see past a sheet of numbers.

Until Erskine. Until the promise to never feel helpless again.

Of course, he _had_ felt it again. Bucky falling from the train. Tony falling from the sky. A surveillance tape playing in Siberia. 

As soon as the guards were sure Steve was secure, they left him alone in the dark office. While it was a relief to not have anyone around to either stare at him or pointedly ignore his existence, Steve quickly found that with no more distractions, he had nothing to do but think.

He thought of Scott first. Scott, who he had come to rescue in the first place, who was only a part of this because of him, and who he had failed in every way. Steve gave another useless tug at the cuffs. They held firm, which turned his attention to Tony.

Steve had no doubt by now that Tony had built them, and while he was trying to hold out hope that the designs had been to hold anyone stronger than the average person, and not Steve specifically, the logical side of his brain was telling him differently. Steve knew how to break out of every cuff S.H.I.E.L.D.’s training had thrown at him. He had even let Natasha and Clint chain him from head to toe once as part of training. That had taken him a few hours, while Clint had snickered and taken pictures, but he’d still gotten himself free in the end. 

These cuffs were built to withstand every escape trick Steve knew. Steve didn’t want to believe that Tony had built these for him, any more than Natasha had betrayed him. He was stubbornly holding out, but it was facts versus feelings, and for once the facts were starting to win.

_Natasha._

She had become the lifebuoy Steve clung to in the sea of hopelessness, as he dwelled on his situation.

_Sometimes a bit of pain is needed to win the long game, remember?_

But just how long was the long game? Had she meant a few days? A week? Longer? Steve had barely held out for a day. He didn’t know how much more of this he could do before he cracked.

Unless…

The story she had told. She had come back for Clint instead of following the mission, only to get Clint more hurt than if she had let him get out on his own. Was the message then that she _wasn’t_ coming back? That Steve was meant to get out of this himself?

That thought was like being doused in icy water. Because there _wasn’t_ a way out, not that Steve could see. Ross had not only been thorough, he had designed this to last. Steve was his. Helpless.

Then his cycle of thoughts would begin again.

Steve slept in micro-doses, but the discomfort and the hunger and the despair shook him awake every time he managed to dose off. It made the long night seem like ten; a short eternity before the lights flickered back on and the guards finally came to give him his ten-minute morning break.

This time when they went to tie Steve back down, Sam was back on his knees even before Steve left the bathroom, gun to his temple. Steve didn’t resist, even as a bout of panic surged through him as the locks slammed shut, as loud as gunshots.

There wasn’t a way out.

_Helpless._

Ross must have noticed Steve’s change in demeanour when he entered for work that day, because he smirked as he raised his coffee cup in Steve’s direction as greeting. Steve felt a new burst of anger and forced his head up, stare defiant. If he didn’t have hope, he could at least hold onto rage.

The day began as the last one had, with Ross going about his business, with the pain in Steve’s limbs and back and jaw escalating. A meeting went past, then another, and Steve was so numb to them by now that he almost didn’t register the familiar voice of Ross’s next client until he saw the man that accompanied it.

The first emotion Steve felt was relief. Tony. Tony was _here._

Steve caught Tony’s eyes. He saw them widen, saw the tension flooding Tony’s frame, and the relief was quickly tainted with shame. He didn’t want _anyone_ to see him like this, let alone his former teammate, even as he hoped that this had been Natasha’s plan - get out while she could, and return with back-up. That back-up being one Tony Stark. Because even after everything that happened between them over the Accords, Tony would never let Ross do this to someone he had once called a friend.  


The moment Steve had that thought was the same moment Tony reached out to shake Ross’s hand. “Redecorating, Secretary-General?”

Ross looked over at Steve, appraising him. “A recent acquisition to the decor. I’m told you’re a man of good taste, Stark.”

“You have good sources.”

Ross gestured to Steve. “Thoughts? You did after all have a hand in the design.”

Ross was testing Tony. That was all. Some kind of twisted test. It had to be.

“Must be a lot of maintenance,” Tony finally answered. “Frankly, I don’t know if I could be bothered.”

“It’s worth it, I assure you. Please, sit.”

Tony went to sit opposite Ross’s desk, so his back would be to Steve, but Ross deftly steered him to the one adjacent to it, so Tony and Steve would be able to see each other. Ok, definitely a test. One that Tony seemed to be passing with flying colors.

_He’s used to acting,_ Steve reminded himself. _He has to do it all the time for the SI board, for the press. That’s all he’s doing._

“So you have something new for me, Stark?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Tony laid a tablet on the desk between them, and then there was a hologram between them. “I have something new for _me_ , although I’m sure you’ll waste no time in asking me to share. Which I might, if you ask nicely.”

Steve’s eyes raked the hologram, looking for a hidden message, or a signal, or _anything,_ but only saw designs and numbers. Was he missing something?

Tony launched into a long speech of techno-babble, swiping through various other holographic designs. His posture was totally relaxed while Ross’s was engaged, focussed on whatever Tony was offering him.

As though there wasn’t a prisoner chained to the wall just a few yards from them.

As they ticked over into the third hour of the meeting, Ross stood and stretched out his back in a way Steve would have given his left arm to be able to do, and asked Tony if he wanted a drink.

“Better not. Pepper has me on curfew. Don’t want to get grounded.”

“I’ll write you a note.” Ross returned with two highballs of scotch, handing one to Tony. He took it, swirling the amber liquid around the glass without drinking it.

“It’s the good stuff,” Ross assured him. “You should know. It was your gift to me.”

Tony hummed, non-committal. “Maybe. Pepper usually takes care of those kinds of things. I just sign my name.”

“Well, she has good taste then. How are you two doing?”

“We’re fine,” Tony said shortly, then quickly changed the subject. “Happy with the designs? Because I gotta jet.”

“Stay.” Ross’s tone was still amiable, but the order was clear. Tony tensed as Ross added, “I’m sure Ms Potts will understand.”

The discomfort had long since passed the point of intolerable. Steve tried the trick of shifting from one knee to the other but moved too fast, resulting in a shooting pain up his leg. A groan slipped out before he could stop it as he slumped quickly onto his less damaged knee.

The glass in Tony’s hand shattered.

Dead silence followed, broken only by Steve’s harsh breathing as Tony stared at the glass and whiskey covering his tablet. Ross’s eyes were darting from Steve to Tony, calculating. 

“Well,” Tony finally said, retrieving the tablet. “It’s a good thing these babies are damn near indestructible.” He looked down at himself. “Not sure the same can be said for this suit.”

The cleaner from earlier appeared, handing Tony a towel, which he reluctantly took as she started to clean up glass and alcohol. Ross had already risen, preparing another drink. “I’d better not,” Tony repeated. “I’m already going to go home smelling like whiskey, I don’t need Pepper to taste it on me as well.”

He was already packing up, cleaning off the tablet and folding it back into his briefcase. Steve didn’t take his eyes off him, waiting for…

Waiting for what? A covert signal? Some grand escape attempt?

Steve still couldn’t let himself believe that Tony would leave him here. Even if he had designed the wall restraints. Even if things had been so broken between them after Siberia. Unless...

Steve felt sick to his stomach as he realised that there was every chance that Ross was holding something - or someone - over Tony’s head to keep him check. Like he had been using Scott, and now Sam and Wanda, over Steve. Was that why Ross had brought up Pepper earlier? 

Any hope Steve had been feeling was trickling away as Tony clipped his briefcase shut. His manner was casual, relaxed, but Steve could spot the tension in his shoulders, and recognised the need to run. To get out and as far away from Ross - from Steve - as possible.

It hit home then, and it hit hard. Tony was going to leave him here. If it was Pepper under threat, Tony wasn’t going to lift a finger against Ross to help him.

Maybe Natasha had known that, and getting Tony hadn’t been her plan after all. If Natasha had had a plan in the first place.

Steve attempted to say Tony’s name around the gag, trying to get the engineer to look at him, hoping he would be able to read the expression on Steve’s face. To see that Steve wanted him to know it was ok. That whatever Tony’s reasons were for leaving him, it was ok. 

Tony didn’t look at Steve once as Ross showed him out of the office.

Ross stayed late again after Tony has left, spending the last hour drinking whiskey and scrolling through his phone before finally retiring for the evening. Again, guards swarmed Sam’s cell, apparently too afraid to get close to Wanda, and Steve hadn’t dared to risk his friend’s life.

Steve had been in a kind of daze since Tony’s departure, dreading the long night ahead where he was going to have new thoughts to pour over while he waited for morning. He had only snapped out of it when a blur of activity came from the TV screen. Apparently, Sam had taken a swing at one of the guards, because the one to his right was sporting a bloody nose even as Sam writhed on the ground, the collar having been put to use.

Steve felt a new surge of anger and had to fight it down, knowing that worse would happen if he fought back. The impulse was followed by a fresh bout of shame that Sam was still fighting while Steve had drifted close to giving up more than once, and every time it was getting harder to not fall completely into despair. 

He looked at the gun at Sam’s head. At Wanda curled up in a corner of her cell. Remembered Ross’s threats to use Steve to draw Bucky out of hiding.

Steve wasn’t done fighting. Not by a long shot. He was getting out of here - he was getting them all out of here.

The resolution lasted until the bonds were back in place, and he was left alone again in the dark. Then it was gone as quickly as it had come. 

He tried to distract himself. Song lyrics, math equations, recounting movie plotlines, but everything seemed tied to something he had lost. A song from 1941 he had sung with the Howling Commandos. Starring at the incomprehensible whiteboards in Bruce and Tony’s labs. A movie he had watched with the team in the Tower, feeling at home for the first time in decades. 

All of it was gone. It was gone, he was alone, and he was helpless.

The cycle of thoughts continued through the night until morning, and Steve tried and failed to brace himself for another day. 

That was the moment the restraints around his wrists and ankles snapped open, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Scott Lang’s whispered in his ear, “Don’t worry, Cap. We’ve come to get you out of here.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience while my internet was being sorted out!
> 
> And hey. That's a nice outfit. You look great today. Good job.

“ _Scott?”_

The lock on the bit cracked open as a full-sized Scott Lang, now in full Ant-Man armor appeared in front of Steve, easing the gag out of his mouth and tossing it to the side as he offered a hand to help Steve to his feet. Steve took it, wincing as pins and needles erupted up both limbs, leaning into Scott for support.

“Cap? You ok?”

“Yeah, just…do we have a minute?”

Scott glanced at the door, then his watch, before he said, “Maybe forty seconds.”

“I can work with that.” Steve clapped Scott on the shoulder, taking him in. He still looked worse for wear, bruises apparent on his face - the only skin Steve could see. “I thought you were dead.”

Scott grinned back at him. “Not yet.” The grin faded. “Wait, that made it sound like we’re about to die. We’re not. Hopefully. Not if everything goes according to plan. Which it will.”

Steve looked over at the screen which was still showing Sam and Wanda, now both apparently asleep, although it had been hard to tell with Wanda. She had barely moved since they’d locked her up again. “If the guards see me free, they’ll hurt them.”

“Don’t worry - we’ve thought of that. Natasha filled us in on everything.”

_Natasha._ Of course she had hadn’t left them.

_Sometimes a bit of pain is needed to win the long game._

Steve would have called the past couple of days more than just a bit of pain, but that didn’t matter now. He was getting out - they were all getting out.

“Natasha and Hope are going after them,” Scott continued, checking his watch again. “Hope is Wasp. My girlfriend. Well, she was, until I came to fight in Germany. Which I don’t regret, by the way, but she was kind of mad about it. Actually, really mad about it. Either that I went or that I didn’t invite her, I’m not sure which, actually, maybe both -”

“Scott? Maybe you can fill me in on this later?”

“Right. Heist.”

A flurry of movement from the screen caught their attention, as a familiar blonde figure leapt into action outside Sam’s cell. Sam was on his feet in an instant as guards rushed into his cell, then collapsed the ground the next second as the collar was put to use. It wasn’t on for long though; Natasha had the rest of the guards out in a second, pulling out a device that turned off Sam’s collar, then unlocked it.

“That’s our cue,” Scott said. “You ready?”

“Guess I have to be.” Steve’s eyes lingered on Wanda, but Scott was pulling him to the door saying, “Hope’s got her! It’s all part of the - _shit!”_

The door to the office flew open and Scott seemed to vanish. Steve threw himself at the first guard through the door, the past couple of days of frustration and anger more than making up for the lack of food and sleep as he took him out. Two more were fighting something none of them could see. Then they were on the ground and Scott was back to full-size, tossing something Steve’s way with a, “Cap, catch!”

Steve did. It was a small metal band that wrapped around his wrist before it started expanding, spiralling out from the center of the band, and Steve couldn’t help but grin as he felt the familiar weight of a shield back in his hand.

But more guards were coming. One aimed at Scott just as he sprang back to full-size. Steve hauled the one trying to put him in a chokehold over his shoulder and darted in front of Scott, raising the shield. However, no bullet pinged off the metal. Steve peered over the rim to see the guard looking at his weapon, confused, before the rim of the shield collided with the guard’s forehead, and he was down. 

“Hey, Scott? This is still part of the plan, right?”

“Um…”

Steve forced his way into the corridor, the relief at finally leaving the office flooding out of him as quickly as it had come as he saw more guards, all advancing towards him and Scott. Steve readied himself. He’d faced worse odds than this.

He gave the guards a nod. “Evening, fellas.”

He was a second away from jumping into combat when he felt hands on his shoulders and Scott was yelling. “Get down!”

Steve hit the deck, Scott landing beside him, a flash of red light filling the corridor as Steve squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, the corridor was filled with unconscious bodies, and a familiar red and gold gauntlet was in front of him, offering him a hand up. “Hey, Cap. Thought I’d help out.”

“I had them on the ropes.” Then Steve took Tony’s hand, allowing Iron Man to pull him to his feet.

Tony’s helmet was down, and up-close Steve could see that the man looked exhausted. He mustn’t have looked much better, given the concerned look on Tony’s face.

“Um, guys?” They both looked at Scott. “I get there’s probably, I don’t know, I lot of unresolved tension and issues and confused feelings here. I know I would be confused, like very confused - I’m usually confused, actually. But maybe you can sort that out _after_ we get out of the floating underwater hellhole?”

Tony dropped Steve’s gaze, helmet snapping back into place, Steve raising one eyebrow as the metal seemed to _grow._ Just like his new shield had. Did that mean Tony had -?

“Thumbelina’s right - we gotta move.”

Right. He could ask Tony about the shield later. Steve let Scott and Tony lead him out of the Raft, feeling sick that Ross’s office had been on one of the lower levels, and realising how deep underwater he had been. How deep underwater he might have stayed if the others hadn’t come.

“Where are we headed?” Steve asked after the three had taken out another wave of guards. “Roof?”

“That’s where our ride is.” Tony turned his repulsers on two more guards who had appeared around one corner, missing the one that was sneaking up behind him. “Hopefully.”

“Tony!” Steve’s shield left his wrist, then the guard was on the floor. Tony gave him a nod of thanks as Steve leaned against the wall, catching his breath.

“You getting tired, old man?” 

Steve shrugged him off. “I can do this all day.” Steve could practically hear Tony’s eye roll, even if he couldn’t see it. “Oh come on, you walked right into that one.”

“Whatever.” 

Steve glanced sideways at Scott, who was staring at him, wide-eyed. “You said the thing,” Scott whispered in awe.

Steve could almost feel the air lightening as they made their way onto the higher levels of the Raft, and figured they were now above water. They burst onto a stairway and Tony was a second away from opening fire before Steve grabbed his arm, two familiar and very welcome faces appearing behind the weapons aimed at them.

Steve lowered his shield, going to Sam first. “Are you ok?”

Sam’s tone was exhausted, but determined. “Once we’re off this floating rock and I’ve had a hundred hours of sleep? Yeah. I’ll be ok.”

Steve tore his eyes away from the burns around Sam’s neck, the bruises lining his arms, catching eyes with Natasha instead. She gave him a look that said _We have a lot to talk about. But later._ Steve agreed. “Wanda?”

“On the roof with Hope,” Natasha replied, sending a look at Scott which Steve didn’t have a chance to interpret as another swarm of guards made their way towards them.

They fought on, Tony blasting those in front and Steve using the shield to guard them at the rear, bringing them all out onto the roof, Scott taking down the last guard within the Raft. “That’s gotta be all of them by now, right?”

Scott’s words were answered by the click of multiple weapons being readied, as Steve only had a glimpse of blue skies before he was focused on the small army awaiting them. The guns they held were different than the ones Tony had designed in the Raft, and they were all pointed straight at them.

Sam shot Scott a look. “You just had to say something.”

Steve wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were fixed on the large jet identical to the one Natasha had flown them to the Raft in, on the edge of the roof and waiting for their escape. And in their way stood Ross, flanked by armed guards, his own gun at Wanda’s head.

“I knew you were stubborn, Rogers,” Ross called across to them. “But falling for the same trick twice? So much for the famous WWII strategist. Or was that all Agent Carter?”

Wanda was barely upright. She was out of the straight jacket but the collar was still fastened around her neck. She teetered forward, Ross’s hold on her the only thing stopping her from crashing to her knees. Steve glanced at her hands, hoping to see any tendrils of magic, but saw none.

“I’m sure you know how this goes by now,” Ross continued. “Drop your weapons - all of you.”

Tony’s head was whipping back and forth, as though looking for an exit. He didn’t drop his repulser. Finally, he stopped, looked at Natasha, and nodded, an unseen message passing between the two of them.

“You’re not going to hold me in here,” Tony called back at Ross. “Even you can’t put away one of the most influential non-politicians in the States without questions being asked.”

“Out of the suit, Stark. And before you go any further, know that this isn’t one of yours.” Ross raised his gun in the air and fired a shot, making all of them flinch. “No shutting this one off at a distance.” He placed the gun back against Wanda’s temple. “This one is probably more trouble than she’s worth to keep here, anyway.”

“Tony,” Steve warned. “Don’t push him.”

“Wasn’t planning on it, Cap.” Tony raised his hands, and the suit shrunk away into a glowing triangle on his chest. “There, ok? Let's talk this out like the big boys we are, yeah?”

“Fine. Let’s talk this out. You’re right - I can’t keep you here indefinitely. I can, however, spin that while arresting several highly dangerous vigilantes, Iron Man heroically stepped in to defend the Accords, and was tragically killed in the crossfire.”

Then he switched the gun’s aim to Tony and fired.

***

“So.” Tony clapped his hands together, looking around at the Avengers gathered in the common room. “We get one shot at this. If we screw this up -”

“I think we’re all aware of the stakes,” Hank cut in.

Tony glared at him. “I’m sorry, whose friends are in danger here?”

“Last time I checked? Not yours, Stark.”

Scott saw the brief flash of hurt on Tony’s face before he managed to school his features.

“We’re all allies here,” Natasha reminded them, looking from Tony to Hank. When they were quiet, she turned to Scott. “So. A heist.”

Scott fought the urge to squirm with everyone’s eyes on him, waiting for a plan. “I’m just saying, Captain America and the others, they already tried the rescue attempt with me, and Ross was ready for that - had planned for that.”

“But this time he doesn’t expect anyone to come,” Hope pointed out.

“That’s not true,” Natasha said, and Scott breathed as the attention was drawn off him for a moment. “Sure, he’s not expecting us. But he is expecting someone.”

“Who?” Hank asked. “Who’s left?”

There was a long pause before Tony supplied the answer. “Barnes.”

Natasha nodded. “He questioned me extensively about where he might be. I told him I didn’t know.” She glanced at Tony, but he didn’t press her on whether that was true or not. “Steve and Bucky’s friendship isn’t exactly a secret, and since the Accords, everyone knows that’s where to hit the other hardest.”

“So Ross is prepared for Robocop to try and swoop in and save the day,” Tony finished. “Which means he’s planned for a rescue. Extra security measures, probably a ton of armed and trained personnel on the Raft at all times. Fine.” He turned back to Scott. “Heist. Sure. Why not?” He clapped his hands together so loudly that Scott jumped as he asked, “F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Schematics for the Raft, if you don’t mind.”

_“Certainly, Boss.”_

A holographic set of blueprints flickered into life in the center of the common room. “This is every security feature the Raft has to offer,” Tony explained. “I know because I either designed or improved them. Which also means I can turn them all off like -” He snapped his fingers. “Cameras - gone. Locks - opened.”

“What about Wanda’s collar?” Everyone looked back at Scott. “They put one on her again. I saw before they dragged me away.”

Tony waved that off. “I can take care of that.”

Hope gave him a wary look. “You designed that too?”

“What? No!” Tony ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. “Can we skip the third degree already? _I’m on your side_. And as I didn’t design it, that means it’s second rate to whatever I will design to unlock it, ok?”

“And Steve’s restraints?” Natasha pressed.

Some of Tony’s bravado dropped. “Ok, yeah, I might have had a hand in those. But for the record, I didn’t know that Ross wanted them to mount Steve to his wall like a damn hunting trophy, ok? They weren’t even meant for Rogers.” He shook his head. “Not that that matters right now. Heist planning. Continue.” 

“Getting in isn’t the problem,” Natasha said. “It’s getting out. There’s no way we’re going to be able to slip out with their three most highly guarded prisoners unnoticed.”

“Then let’s get them to notice us,” Hope said, and Hank nodded in agreement. “Like a distraction,” he added.

“Or like a sleight of hand!” Scott jumped in. “Um, I’ve been learning a lot of magic lately. House arrest and stuff. You know.”

“We pull one over on him,” Hope mused. “I could get behind that.”

“He’ll pull the same trick he did last time,” Natasha continued. “Make you think you’ve taken out all the guards, and then have more waiting for you at the final hurdle, and a hostage if he can get one to make us surrender. We need to get him to let his guard down - to make a mistake.”

“Hey, you know when people make mistakes?” Tony said. “When they think they’ve won.” He looked back at Scott. “Ok, Houdini. Let’s plan a heist.”

The final piece of the plan had been Scott’s idea, and now it was here, he was terrified. He had always admired Scarlet Witch, knew she was one of the most powerful Avengers ever, but now he was this close to her, with Ross’s weapon against her temple, he was having a hard time seeing anything but a frightened teenage girl who didn’t want to die.

A blur of red saw Tony’s suit retreat back into whatever the glowing triangle thing was on his chest, and he raised his hands in a clear surrender before Ross changed the gun’s aim and fired at him.

Steve was faster. He threw himself in front of Tony, shield raised and braced for a bullet that never came.

It was hovering in the air, about a foot away from Tony, suspended in a cloud of red magic.

Ross only had half a second to blink stupidly at it before Wanda’s collar tumbled to the ground, and all hell broke loose.

Wanda’s head whipped up, her eyes no longer dazed as Wasp sprung into full-size behind her and sent a fist straight into Ross’s face. He stumbled backwards, blood spurting from his nose as he looked up at Wanda in undisguised fear.

“You locked me up.” Crimson was curling around Wanda as she took a step towards Ross, making the Secretary-General scramble backwards. “You put a collar on me like I was a dog. And you hurt my friends.”

More guards were firing, but their bullets were stopped in mid-air as Wanda’s power swelled, enveloping the roof. Scott was so mesmerised that it took a flick on the ear from a newly suited up Iron Man to remind him that this was his plan, and it was going perfectly, and the next step was to -

“You shrinking, Pissant, or what?”

“Right. Yes, right, shrinking.”

Scott shrank as he jumped onto Tony’s shoulder, Hope dashing across to them and doing the same. Tony reached out and grabbed Sam and Steve, pulling them close against him as Natasha brought up the rear, a blue energy field spreading out around them in a sphere as Tony started to pull them all towards the edge of the Raft, away from Ross.

Ross was cowering under Wanda’s rage as she started to levitate in the air. “That’s our cue to get off the floating donut!” Tony shouted, fighting to make himself heard. “Left!”

“But the jet -” Sam started to argue, but Tony kept pulling him in the opposite direction.

They veered left as guards scattered around them, trying to flee to deeper levels of the Raft. Wanda slammed the door shut, trapping them on the roof. Some tried to fire, the bullets freezing midair, while others got on their knees and surrendered or prayed or both.

Scott made a mental note to never get on Wanda’s bad side.

“Tony?” he heard Steve shout as they neared the edge, seeming about to jump right off it. Tony gave a low whistle, and then a second stealth jet seemed to appear from nowhere before them.

“Into Donatello!” Tony yelled. “Nat, start it up!” He looked back over his shoulder. “Maximoff! Time to go!”

Wanda didn’t move, still focussed on Ross at her feet as her power swelled. Tony swore, but Steve pushed past him, using the shield to brace himself as he forced his way through the cloud of chaos magic until he was within Wanda’s earshot. 

“Wanda!” The magic whipped away the word and he tried again, louder. “Wanda! He’s not worth it!”

“He deserves it.”

“Maybe,” Steve agreed. “But you don’t. You’re better than that - better than him. You don’t want this on your conscience, trust me.”

There a long beat while everyone held their breaths. Then, Wanda slowly lowered herself back onto the roof, although the tempest of magic didn’t cease. “I let you live,” she spat at Ross. “Think about that the next time you’re hunting us down and calling us freaks. You owe this freak your life.”

Steve’s hand closed on her forearm and tugged her back towards the ninja jet. Scott was still riding small on Tony’s shoulder until Tony prompted him, “You’re going to want to move away for this next part.”

Scott transferred himself to Sam instead as the speakers on Tony’s suit booted up to full volume. “I know this place has lifeboats,” his amplified voice echoed above the storm. “I strongly suggest that you get to one, maybe about now.”

When they were all safely on board the jet and high in the sky, Wanda let forth a last burst of magic which engulfed the metal prison. The last thing the Avengers saw before heading back to the Compound was a number of lifeboats dotted about the water, as the Raft sank out of sight into the ocean’s depths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry if not everything in the heist plan was completely clear - there will be a full breakdown in the next chapter, as explaining every little detail in this chapter messed with the pacing. 
> 
> The last chapter will be up fairly quickly - my writer's brain got distracted by other projects, but from now on I'm going to focus on one WIP at a time, and this one now has my full attention.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone thought something nice about you today. They didn't say it, because they were worried it would be weird, but they definitely thought of you, and that made them smile.
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

When Steve felt a weight settle next to him in the Compound’s waiting room, he expected Natasha.

They had yet to have that conversation. The flight back to the Compound had been filled by tending to injuries as best they could. They were greeted at the Compound door by Dr Helen Cho berating Tony for not giving her enough warning about how many patients she would be seeing to, and then insisting on seeing all of them right away.

Sam and Wanda were both sporting sores and burns around their necks from the collars, although Sam’s was worse. Helen had wanted to put an IV in Steve to counter the dehydration and nutrient deficiency, but he had waved her off with a promise that it wasn’t his first time with those symptoms, and he knew how to handle them. On any other occasion, she would have protested, but she had more urgent patients to attend to and let him be.

Scott had been marched straight back to bed by Hope, as Hank slipped away with a promise that he would visit Cassie and assure her that Scott was ok. Steve had only gotten a glimpse of Clint, still surrounded by family, before Natasha had made her way towards him and settled into the last spot of free space on his bed. Feeling a little lost, and more than a little in the way, Steve had accepted the Gatorade and protein bars Helen had pushed into his hands and retreated to the waiting room.

Steve was almost asleep when he felt the presence of another person beside him. They were moving with caution, as though they were trying not to wake him. He knew then that he wasn’t going to see a blonde assassin waiting for him when he opened his eyes. If Natasha didn’t want you to hear her coming, then you wouldn't.

A second after his eyes fluttered open, something warm pushed into Steve’s hands, fingers cupping around his to make sure he didn’t drop it. “Easy, spangles. Helen is annoyed with me enough already without making a mess of her waiting room floor.”

Steve wrapped his hands more securely around a cup of heavenly-smelling soup. He gave Tony a nod of thanks as he took a sip. It was the best thing he’d tasted in months.

“I gotta say,” Tony continued, sprawling in his own chair with a mock casualness. “The beard? Kind of works for you. Very Bear Grylls, man of the wild vibes. Or it will, when you don’t look like you just walked out of hell, or whatever’s waiting for us on the other side.”

The protein bars hadn’t done much to soothe the ache of hunger, and before Steve knew it the soup was gone. He knew he should follow Helen’s advice and get a proper meal and sleep in a real bed, like the others were doing, but he couldn’t. He wanted to be there for them when they woke up, as soon as Helen was done and he could visit without getting in her way.

“Did he feed you?”

The words were blunt, but Steve didn’t mind. He was too exhausted to beat around any more bushes. “Yes,” he answered.

“But not enough.”

“No.”

Something else was pushed into his hands. Steve blinked, taking a moment to stare down at the paper bag filled with several kinds of takeout. “There’s more for the others when they want it. So help yourself.”

“Thank you, Tony.” Tony tried to shrug it off, but Steve didn’t let him, turning around so he was facing him fully. “I mean it. You didn’t have to get mixed up in this.”

“Kind of think I did.”

Steve dug out a container of food, toying with it. “I thought about calling you,” he admitted. “When Ross sent us the first round of photos.”

“I would have helped if you had.”

“That’s not why I didn’t call. I didn’t want to drag you into something like this.”

“I would have helped,” Tony repeated. “I did help.” Then he added, more softly, “You should have told me.”

“I didn’t want to put you in that position.”

Tony looked up, meeting Steve’s gaze for the first time. “You should have told me.”

It took Steve’s tired brain a second to cotton on that Tony was no longer talking about the Raft. “I know,” he admitted. “If I could go back -”

“Don’t say you’d do things differently, because I think we both know you wouldn’t of.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to that except, “I would have told you about your parents. That’s what I would have changed.”

Tony nodded, still looking unconvinced. “That’s a long conversation I don’t really want to have right now.”

“We need to have it,” Steve replied, then added. “But yeah. Later.”

Some of the tension went out of Tony’s shoulders, and he gestured to the bag of takeout. “Eat, before that super metabolism gets the best of you.”

“Have you eaten?”

Tony tried to wave it off, but Steve dug his heels in, pulling out the top container of what looked like Thai and leaving it on Tony’s armrest. Tony sighed, but dug wooden sporks out of the takeout bag and handed one to Steve. They ate in silence that wasn’t quite companionable and wasn’t quite awkward, until Tony broke it. “So. Are you up for the big heist reveal speech yet?” He glanced around the waiting room. “It’s not really the setting the movies usually give it, but I’ll try and give it some dramatic flair.”

Steve’s lips twitched. “I didn’t think you could do things _without_ dramatic flair.”

“Sure, Mr Hey-let-me-jump-out-this-plane-without-a-parachute.” Tony gestured with his spork. “Firstly, I give credit where credit is due; most of this was Lang’s, with some suggestions thrown in. Team effort and all that.” Tony swirled the utensil around his food without actually eating anything. “So, setting the stage. We knew from Nat that Ross had spread the three of you out, and we had to get to all of you at once, or Ross’s goons were going to grab whoever we got to last as leverage.”

“But they got to Wanda -”

“I’ll get to that. Eat your food and don’t interrupt.” Steve gave a small smile as he gestured for Tony to continue.

“Anyway, so Ross is a…let’s go with _traditional_ guy. Likes the established order, and all that. If something works, he keeps doing it. Which makes him predictable. And we knew a straight out rescue attempt was going to fail, because Ross was expecting that, so we decided to go stealthy instead. At least for getting in.” Tony was warming up to it now, putting the Thai to one side so as to gesture with both hands. “As far as Ross knew, I was still on his good side. It was easy enough to whip up schematics of a weapon I was never going to build, and he got excited enough to schedule a same-day meeting. That, and…” He cleared his throat. “I think he wanted to show off that he had you. That was a new record, by the way.”

“New record for what?”

“Over twenty years of SI bureaucracy, and that was officially the worst business meeting in my entire career. And it’s had some stiff competition.” Tony hung his head, the momentum lost. Steve had to fight an urge to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, figuring the move would be unwelcome.

“I knew you weren’t on his side,” Steve assured him instead. “Not really. I thought he might have had something on you, or something.”

Tony didn’t respond, going very still instead.

“I did think it was a rescue attempt, at first,” Steve admitted. “But when he brought up Pepper, I thought maybe you were protecting her, or something. It’s nice that you’re back together, by the way. I’m happy for you.”

Tony raised his head, eyes narrowed. “You know I designed those restraints, right?”

“Yes. I do.”

“And you still thought -” Tony shook his head. “This really interrupted the flow of my heist speech. Hold up, let’s get the momentum going again. Where were we?”

Steve wasn’t quite ready to let the last point go, but he humored Tony as he replied, “Stealthing into the Raft.”

“Right. Yes. So yeah, Ross still thinks I’m playing faithful lapdog, and he still thinks he’s got Clint stashed away so Natasha’s on a leash as well.” He paused. “That’s two dog analogies in a row. Screw it, I’m going with it. So, contrary to most heists, we knew this had to be done in daylight. Visibility purposes and all that. So I have the meeting with Ross, and bring in the Borrowers. Um, movie reference,” Tony explained when he saw Steve’s confused look. “I bring in Lang and Van Dyne, and Natasha flies in come morning with Michelangelo - that’s Ninja jet number one. Meanwhile, Pym has made some alterations to Donatello - Ninja jet number two. Natasha brings that one with her too and leaves it on the roof.”

“How did she bring two jets with her?”

“I’m _getting_ there. So Natasha brings the ninja jets in and is allowed to land. The guards don’t suspect anything, so she goes down to the bottom floors of the Raft to get Sam. Scott is hiding out in the office waiting to get you, Hope is with Wanda, and I’m incoming via new and improved nanotech Iron Man. Same tech as the new shield, by the way. And I was working on nanotech far before I knew Pym was so if he gets in a tizzy about me stealing ideas or whatever it’s all bull. I’m getting off track, hold on.”

Tony paused for breath, then continued. “Back to it. I tell Scott how to break you free and Natasha goes and gets Sam. I come in to help you clear the way to get everyone on the roof where Ross has done exactly what we expected him to do. He’s laid an ambush by making us think we’ve taken out most of the guards when in fact there are a ton more, and he’s got leverage. Except -”

Steve had already put that part together. “Hope had already disabled Wanda’s collar.”

“Bingo. Then we’re all on the roof with every guard left in the Raft, and Ross thinks he’s blocked off our only ride out of there.”

“But Wanda’s free, and a second jet is waiting,” Steve finished. “Wanda takes them out, we get out in the jet no one knows is there. That’s a good plan. Except Wanda…" He remembered the gun pointed at Wanda’s head, Ross’s promise that she was more trouble than she was worth, Ross attempting to shoot Tony -

“Everyone’s a critic,” Tony sighed. “But yeah, no plan goes perfectly, as hard as I try. I thought Ross would keep using _my_ guns - that I could disable them all, including the one he was holding on Wanda. That, or he would threaten her using the collar, which was useless by that point. She was never meant to be in any actual danger. But apparently I gave the game away a little early, and Ross was suspicious enough to take some safety precautions.”

“Gave the game away?” Steve’s brow furrowed for a moment before he remembered. “The glass.”

“The glass,” Tony confirmed. “Worst business meeting ever, remember? Totally ruined that suit and everything. I just couldn’t…” Tony broke off, and Steve didn’t push him. He didn’t want to talk about that either.

“They were meant for Barnes,” Tony said softly. “Not you. I didn’t know Ross was planning…I didn’t know.”

Steve took that in. “You made those restraints for Bucky?”

“In case of another UN incident,” Tony hurried on. “Not for Ross, not for…that. So if someone triggered the Winter Soldier, you’d have time to talk him down, or whatever you did the first time.”

“And the bit?”

“Hydra’s known for popping those pesky little cyanide capsules when we get close enough for answers. I didn’t know if the Winter Soldier- if Barnes carried one but…” He shrugged.

“Covering all the bases,” Steve supplied.

“Someone’s got to.”

“Does that someone always have to be you?”

“Clearly no one else is going to do it.” The words were barbed, and Tony winced the moment he had said them. “Right. We said we’d get into that later. But, Steve, I _swear_ I didn’t know that Ross was going to use them on you like that.”

“I know,” Steve assured him. “I didn’t think otherwise.” He was still letting the information that Tony had designed something to restrain Bucky instead of kill in the case of another Winter Soldier incident. That Tony had built a shield for him before he had met Hank, and therefore he'd had it ready before he had known Steve was in trouble. While they were a long ways off ok, there were hints of progress and hope. They had a starting point on the long road ahead of them. 

“That’s not fair on you,” Steve said. Tony had stopped looking at him, focussed on the far wall. “Thinking you’re the only one whose covering all the bases,” Steve clarified.

“It’s fine,” Tony muttered.

“It’s not fine,” Steve insisted, leaning forward and biting back a wince as the movement shot a fresh surge of pain through both knees. “That’s a heavy burden to carry alone.”

Tony tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Someone needs to think about the options no one else will. The options no one else likes, for a future that no one wants to _think_ about, let alone plan for. And yes, that means making some not so favourable decisions in the present moment. Decisions like Ultron, and the Accords - ” He broke off. “Never mind. Forgot who I was talking to for a moment.”

“Tony,” Steve said slowly. “I know we don’t see eye-to-eye on a lot of things but -”

Tony huffed. “Yeah, you think?”

“But you don’t have to carry that alone. That’s what the team is for. We take on those things, those threats - together.”

“Don’t talk to me about together,” Tony shot at him. “Because last I checked, only one of us was fighting to keep this team together, and that wasn’t you. That’s what the Accords were, Rogers - a way for us to be together when the big bad comes. And it _is_ coming, whether we’re ready for it or not. And you know the real kicker?” Tony shoved himself to his feet, starting to pace the waiting room. “I was doing what you suggested. I saw the failure in Ultron - trying to do it all myself, wave a magic wand and save the world single-handedly. I saw we needed all of us together. Your words - that’s what you said. And then you just _left_.”

“I couldn’t…” Steve tried to stand. His body protested it, urging him to sit back down. He stood anyway. “I couldn’t sign those papers, Tony. You know I couldn’t. We all would have been under Ross’s thumb.”

Tony glared back at him, clearly going in for the fight, but that was the exact moment Steve’s body won the battle with his will and he swayed, grabbing at the wall. Tony was across the room in a moment, gripping his elbow and guiding him back into the chair, sitting with him with a “Hey, you’re alright.”

Steve let him, trying not to slump as the exhaustion of the past few days urged to make itself known. Tony opened his mouth, closed it, then seemed to change his mind and said instead, “Yeah, I’m calling it. Bedtime for you.”

Steve nodded to the hospital room. As good as sleeping in a real bed, _horizontal,_ sounded, he wasn’t ready to be apart from the team after all they’d been through. Tony seemed to understand even as he looked like he still wanted to argue. “Compromise,” he offered. “I get you some bedding and you camp out here. I’ll wake you if anything changes. Deal?”

“Deal.” The corners of Steve’s mouth twitched. “So we can compromise. That’s good to know.”

Tony snorted, but it was good-natured. “I guess so.” He made to stand.

“Tony?”

Tony paused, glancing towards the hospital door. “I know we have more to say. I do. But like we said - later. Because I’m not done. I have words that need to be said, and they’re not going to be pretty, so I don’t want to say them when you look like you’re a breath away from fainting like some fairytale damsel.”

“I know,” Steve agreed. “And I’ll listen when those words come. I just wanted to say…those hard decisions. You shouldn’t have to carry those alone. If anyone should carry those, it’s me. I am- I _was_ the leader. That should be on me, not you.”

Tony stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking down. “You’re still our Cap, Cap. Even if I don’t agree with half your decisions. Ok, less than half. Maybe a quarter, or a third when I'm being generous. But I know they’re coming from a good place.”

“Maybe in the future, not all of those hard decisions have to come from you. That’s a load we can share.”

“I…wouldn’t hate that.”

Tony disappeared and returned a few minutes later with pillows and blankets, spreading them out on the waiting room floor and helping Steve to lie down. Steve didn’t need the assistance, but he saw the gesture for what it was, and accepted it without comment. Tony handed him a pillow and settled back into a chair, looking about ready to nod off himself.

“Hey, Tony?”

“Go to sleep, Rogers.”

“I just wanted to ask - the second jet. How did you get it there without Ross noticing?”

Tony’s tired face lit up in a grin, as he reached into a pocket and brought out what looked like a keychain. Dangling from it was a tiny ninja jet, no longer than Steve’s thumb.

“Does Hank know you still have that?”

“He does not.”

“Are you going to give it back? 

“We’ll see, Cap. We’ll see.”

***

When Scott came to and felt a female figure beside him, the first thing he checked was that he was wearing pants. He found a flimsy hospital gown instead, and decided to make do.

The figure stirred beside him with a sleepy, “Scott?”

“Hope?” He turned around so he was facing her. She looked exhausted, but managed a tired smile. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she murmured back. “How are you feeling?”

“Um.” Scott tested out various parts of his body. “Ow. Sore. Everywhere.” He and Hope were in a private room in the Compound hospital, the door closed. “Is everyone else…?”

“Everyone’s fine,” Hope assured him. “Helen insisted you stay a couple nights for observation, but it’s nothing time and rest can’t fix.”

“And Ross?”

“Not the Secretary of State anymore, so it’s all a bit chaotic out there. Stark is handling most of the press.”

“And are we, um, arrested?”

Hope shook her head. “No one even knows we’re here. And by the time they do, there’s going to be nothing to arrest us for. The government and the UN are making Ross their scapegoat, and trying to distance themselves as far from the Accords as possible. It won’t be long before they’re thrown out the window, or at least undergo some major rewrites.” She gave him a playful punch on the shoulder, although soft, so as not to aggravate any of his lingering injuries. “Told you if you’d invited me along you wouldn't have been caught.”

“I will never not listen to you again.”

“Liar.”

Scott put his forehead against Hope’s chest, the past few days catching up to him. The kidnapping, the beating, the drowning. And…

“Scott? What’s wrong?”

Scott had gone rigid as the memory came flooding back to him. _My name is Alex Pérez._

“I killed someone,” Scott whispered. “Two people, technically.”

He felt Hope hesitate, then pull him a little closer, giving him the strength to keep going. “Ross’s men.” Now he had started, it came flooding out. “I didn't mean to. I was just trying to escape, I didn’t think they’d kill him, or let the other one die. I didn’t even know the second one’s name -”

Hope was running a hand through his hair, the other massaging his back. It felt good - really good - a dizzying contrast to the knot forming in his stomach. “You did what you had to,” Hope started, but stopped as Scott shook his head. 

“I didn’t though. It didn’t even make a difference. I didn’t get out - the others still got caught.”

“They’re ok now. Everyone’s ok.”

“Those two guards aren’t. That’s on me. That’s always going to be on me.” After a long pause, he added, “Sorry. I wouldn’t know what to say to that either. Maybe just…”

“What do you need?”

“Stay?”

She pulled him closer. “I will if you will. No more secret trips to fight with Captain America. Unless I’m invited. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Scott knew he must have drifted off at some point, glad that whatever painkillers Helen was pumping into him kept the nightmares that were surely coming at bay. He stirred into consciousness, noting that the figure sitting across from him was definitely not Hope. The figure moved as he did, reaching for something on the bedside table and offering it to Scott. “Dr Cho said you’d be thirsty when you woke up.”

Scott accepted the water gratefully, only realising after he’d downed half of it just who exactly was sitting beside his bed. While he was in a hospital gown that was _riding up._ Scott sent out a fervent prayer that when he reunited with the rest of the Avengers, he was actually dressed, because he did _not_ want to keep making a habit of this.

“Cap…tain America,” Scott said, hastily rearranging the gown and the sheets, sloshing water down his front as he did so. “Um, hi.”

Steve looked as exhausted as Scott felt, but was trying hard to hide it as he took the cup back, somehow managing to hand Scott a box of tissues while pretending not to notice Scott’s now soaked chest. Scott turned scarlet as he dried himself off, Steve making a point to look away until he was done.

“Hank and Tony are talking some things out,” Steve explained, handing Scott a trash can for the sopping tissues. “Hope is acting as a buffer. She hasn’t left your side otherwise.”

Scott was sure it was just his imagination that had him thinking that Steve looked a little wistful as he said it.

“So I’m stepping in,” Steve supplied. “Hope that’s ok.”

Scott fought back a laugh. Captain America was asking if it was ok if he sat by his hospital bed. It took a moment for Scott to realise that Steve was actually looking for an answer. “Oh, yeah,” he managed. “I mean, you don’t have to though. I’m sure you have much more important things to be doing.”

“I don’t.” Steve’s tone made it clear that that was the end of that discussion.

“Everyone else?” Scott asked. Hope had already answered that question, but he found himself needing to hear it again anyway.

“Clint got the worst of it,” Steve answered. “But nothing that won’t heal. Sam and Wanda are being treated mostly for burns.” Steve winced as he rubbed his neck in sympathy. “And a few other things. But they’re fine. They’re going to be fine.”

“And you?”

Steve seemed surprised by the question. “I’m good.”

Scott doubted that was true, but didn’t push it. “Thank you,” he said at the exact same time Steve said, “I’m sorry.”

Scott stared at him. “For _what?”_

“You never should have been a part of this,” Steve explained. “You did the right thing - making a deal to stay with your family. And then you got dragged away from them because of me.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t even get you out,” Steve said, his voice low. “If Natasha hadn’t come back you’d be dead. And that would be on me. I’m sorry, Scott.”

“That’s, um…well, that’s bullshit.” Steve raised one eyebrow at him, but Scott hurried on. “I was there because of Ross, not you. And you came back for me - again. You didn’t have to, you could have stayed on the run, but you didn’t. You risked everything.” Scott twisted his sheets in his hands, turning them into a knot. “So yeah. Thank you. For not leaving me there.”

Steve’s small smile told him that the self-blame wasn’t going away any time soon. “Well, you came back for me. So we can call it even, ok?”

“Ok,” Scott agreed. “Even. Sure.”

“And…” Steve hesitated before he went on. “I hope you don’t mind, but I overheard what you were saying earlier. To Hope. Accidentally, I mean.” He tapped one of his ears. “Enhanced hearing, and all that.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I’m sorry if this isn’t my place,” Steve continued. “But taking away a life, even if it’s unintentional, is never easy. In fact, it’s when it gets easy that you need to start worrying.”

“And you have…” It was something Scott had never thought about before, even though it made sense. Captain America was so often displayed as the embodiment of hope and justice, that it was easy to forget the solider behind the symbol, who had fought in wars bloodier and more brutal than anyone who hadn’t been there could imagine.

Steve nodded. “Sometimes you have to. I wish we didn’t, and we try not to…but war is war. And if it’s someone from an enemy’s side or an ally, you have to choose your allies. It doesn’t make the choice easy though.”

“No,” Scott muttered. “Not that I really chose to,” he added, after a moment. “I thought if I grabbed one of them…” What had he thought? That Ross would save them? That his men would care about any individual life over their mission?

“I tried that too,” Steve said softly. “In Ross’s office. I got free, for a minute at least. Threatened to start shooting if they didn’t let Sam and Wanda go. They didn’t even pick up the radio. It’s efficient,” he admitted. “But also why they lost.”

“Um, I’m not following. Sorry.”

Steve waved off the apology. “Men like Ross only see the big picture, and want to take up as much space in it as possible. Everyone who doesn’t matter to them is small, disposable. What’s one life when you have the universe, right?” Steve allowed himself a small smile. “But sometimes one life is what the universe needs. Everyone matters. Every individual is worth the same. We don’t make sacrifices, and we don’t trade lives. And that’s why we’ll win in the end.”

“Wow. That was…yeah. Good speech.”

Steve seemed to come back to himself, and grimaced. “Sorry. Force of habit. Thank god Sam is in the next room. He’d ask if I wrote that down beforehand.”

“Did you?”

“Just some ideas that have been on my mind recently.”

Scott hadn’t noticed the hospital door swing open, but a cleared throat made him jump, looking over to see Tony Stark hanging awkwardly in the doorway. Scott wondered how much the engineer had heard. “Sorry to interrupt visiting hours,” Tony said. “But we’re up, Cap.”

Steve sighed and got to his feet. “No more putting it off?”

“I mean, we could. If you’re not ready.”

Steve shook his head. “No. This has waited long enough.” He clasped Scott on the shoulder as he made to go. “Are you ok if I…”  


“Yeah,” Scott assured him. “I’m probably just going to go back to sleep anyway. I feel I could sleep for a year.”

“I know the feeling.” Steve looked over at Tony and gave him a nod. “Ok. Let’s talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a short epilogue for this story I was going make a part of this chapter, but it was taking too long so I figured I'd get this part up as it was finished.


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please enjoy this very fluffy epilogue, and thank you for coming along for the ride!

Scott stared in disbelief at the full house Steve Rogers had just spread out on the table, to the collected groans of everyone in the room.

“You’re cheating,” Sam complained as he stripped off his shirt and tossed it into the growing pile in the corner. The paratrooper’s shirt was closely followed by Clint’s, the archer wincing as the movement aggravated injuries that still hadn’t quite healed. Hope followed suit by tugging off a sock, only the second item of clothing she had had to remove all game. Natasha smirked, still fully dressed, having folded two hands ago. They all turned to look at Scott, expectant.

So much for his pact to keep his clothes on around the Avengers.

“Fine!” He gave in, shucked off his trousers, and tossed them, to the general cheers of the room.

The rogues hadn’t been arrested so much as instructed to not leave the Compound until the government decided what to do with them. It was a demand they were happy to comply with after learning that the Accords were under serious revision and that they were all on their way to being reinstated as official Avengers. There were still going to be contingencies and safeguards around their future battles, especially on foreign soil, and Steve and Tony still clashed over exactly what those should be, but they were making progress.

While Hank had returned to his lab before the officials had shown up, still not trusting his technology in the hands of others, he had done so after shaking Tony’s hand, with an offer in the air of a future collaboration. Scott wasn’t sure if Tony had taken him up on it until a few days ago, when Tony had casually thrown out an idea for improving Scott’s Ant-Man suit, and Hank had called Scott later that day to confirm it.

Most of the days were dedicated to recovery and discussing the Accords. Scott had also officially met Colonel Rhodes and Pepper Potts for the first time, who would always be present for those discussions. They didn’t outright take sides, but Scott could tell that Tony was grateful for the backup.

The discussions were usually wrapped up around three, with Rhodey taking what they had discussed to his next liaison meeting with the military and Pepper to the Avengers’ UN representatives, and then all talk of politics was banned for the rest of the evening.

Those evenings were some of the best Scott had had in years. Despite missing Cassie, (the constant video chats to her weren’t quite the same), he appreciated the time spent restrengthening his bonds with Hope. The two would often slip away to a quiet room and talk for hours about plans for the future, with Hope admitting that she believed her mother to be alive in the Quantum Realm, and that she and Hank had plans to bring her back if they could.

Other evenings were spent in the company of the other Avengers, watching movies, or cooking dinner, or - on occasion - strip poker.

“Who knew Captain America would be a card shark?” Hope noted as Scott settled back in his seat, now dressed in only his underwear.

Steve shrugged, although he was fighting back a grin. “I’ve always had a good memory. And war has a surprising amount of downtime, and we didn’t exactly have Netflix in the trenches.”

He went to shuffle the cards, only to have Clint bat his hands out of the way. “No you don’t. I’m dealing this time.”

“Yeah, no,” Sam protested, snatching the cards up himself. “You and Nat definitely cheat. _I’m_ dealing.”

“It’s not cheating if you don’t get caught.”

“Yeah, it kind of is, Romanoff.”

There were footsteps behind the door, and they all turned to look. “Is Wanda finally leaving Vision’s side to join us?” Sam asked. “I swear I haven’t seen either of them in a week.”

“I think it’s nice,” Hope put in. “Young love and all that.” She shot Scott a smile as she said it.

The door swung open, revealing not red hair but brown as Tony stepped into the room, chatting with Rhodey. He paused when he saw them all sitting there in various states of undress. “Do I even want to know?”

“Isn’t this like, a normal Tuesday night for you, Stark?” Clint grinned at him.

Tony pretended to be offended. “That was the old, irresponsible me, Barton. I’m a reformed man now, haven’t you heard?”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t believe that for a second,” Rhodey teased him. “Sorry, we thought the room was empty. We’ll go somewhere else.”

There was something of an awkward pause before Steve stood, pushing his chair to one side. “We got room for two more if you’re not busy.”

When Tony hesitated, Rhodey answered for both of them. “Sure. You should know that Tones cheats though.”

“Then he’s in good company,” Sam grumbled, shoving his chair to the left to make room as Steve grabbed a couple of extra seats.

Tony still looked uncertain, but he masked it with a raised eyebrow. “Cap just wants to see me with my clothes off. We all know that’s been his endgame since day one.”

Steve pulled a beer from the cooler beside the table and handed it to Tony. “Guess the tabloids were right after all, then.”

Tony let out a surprised laugh as he settled into the chair, accepting the hand Sam dealt him and grimacing when he saw the cards.

“Don’t let that expression fool you - that’s him trying to bluff,” Rhodey announced.

“Traitor!”

“Get some new moves, old man.”

“I’m _younge_ r than you.”

The banter continued as drinks were consumed and the pile of discarded clothes grew, the air between the friends more relaxed than it had been in a long time. Things weren’t fixed; they all knew that. The Accords were still weeks, if not months, away from resembling the compromise they needed. Scott still had nightmares about dead guards and drowning but, when he woke from them, Hope was there. Tony and Steve would still argue, but then they would apologise. It wasn’t perfect, but nothing is, and happiness comes from accepting the good amongst the bad, and making the best out of what we’re given.

Scott was so lost in thought that he forgot to fold his less than ideal hand, realising too late that he had to lay out the losing cards for all to see.

Sam grinned at him. “Off with them, Lang.”

Scott reached for his underwear. “Yep, yep, doing it.”

Scott took them all in as he felt the brush of Hope’s shoulder against his. No, it wasn’t perfect. But it was his and, for now, that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry Wanda wasn't there at the end - it felt a bit weird to include her in the nudity aspects of this scene due to the age gap, hence having her be off having romantic reunions with Vision. 
> 
> That's another one down! If you're keen for more, I'm moving over to "The One Where Tony is Bruce's Weakness" which is a lot shorter, and then I'll be back to "The One Where Clint is Tony's Weakness", which is a hell of a lot longer. 
> 
> And hey. You didn't have to read this, but you did, and that makes me feel warm inside. Thanks lovely reader. You're a great person, and you deserve great things.

**Author's Note:**

> So hey, I have this film and screenwriting podcast? It's called "Kill the Cat" and once a month my co-host and I and break down one of our favourite movies or tv shows and look at why they work, including Harry Potter, The Princess Bride, Brooklyn Nine-Nine and, of course, the MCU.
> 
> You can check it out on [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Ypaen3yM5Q&t=1s&ab_channel=KilltheCatPodcast), [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/show/5hCprc9UCBZP4srFrBXKT1?si=ZOqdhMlVQvqV2fG5PxuvOA), or anywhere you listen to podcasts. 
> 
> And hey. You're doing great.


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